
Book ' Vy- i i • — 



/ 



LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



i 



LYRICS OF THE HEART: 



OTHER POEMS. 



ALARIC A. WATTS. 



" Familiar mailer of to-day ; 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 
That liatli been, and may he again." 

\VORDS\VORTlI. 



ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLER & CO. 

1853. 



e^^V-^ 



^■'srl'^ 



TO 



MRS. ALARIC WATTS, 



Tins VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER 



AFFECTIONATE HUSBAND. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



SOBJECT. 
KIRKSTALL ABBEY, 
TIGNETTE. ... 
THE NINE. ... 
READING MAGDALEN. 
THE IBIS. . . . , 

GUARD AGAINST \ RAINY DAY. 
THE TWIN SISTERS. 

A maiden's soliloquy. 

MUSIC 

MORNING. ... 

BUBBLE-BLOWERS. . 



PAINTER. 


PAGE. 


HOFLAND. 


Frontispiece. 


LILLEY. 


Title Page. 


STOTHARD, R.A. . 


20 '^ 


OORBEGGIO. . 


33 


HOWARD, R.A. 


65*^ 


HOWARD, R.A. 


85 


READ. . 


. 104 


LESLIE. 


. 124 


HILTON, R.A. 


. 164 


HOWARD, R.A. 


. 184 


WEBSTER. 


212 ^ 



CONTENTS. 



Kirkstall Abbey Pvevisited, . 

To Nine Sisters (Not The Muses), 

Ten Years Ago, .... 

My Own Fireside, 

May Flowers, .... 

The Painter's Dream, 

For Ever Thine, .... 

AVe Met when Life and Hope were New, 

The Birth of the First Born, 

To a Portrait: said to be of Nell Gwynn, 

He never said He Loved Me, 

They are No More, 

Greece, ..... 

Leaves from a Poet's Autobiography, . 

Portrait of a Lady in a Florentine Costume, 

To Caroline Bowles, 

A Withered Rose, .... 

The Nameless Toast, 

The Return from India, 

The Poet's Home, 

The Death of the First Born, 

The Wharfe Revisited, . 

AVe Plighted Vows Together, 



17 
20 
23 
26 
29 
30 
34 
36 
37 
38 
41 
42 
44 
47 
51 
52 
55 
55 
56 
59 
69 
72 



X CONTKNTS. 

PAGE 

The Sleeping Cupid of Guido, . . . . . .75 

The Fisherman's Hymn to the Virgin, .... 77 

The Bachelor's Dilemma, . . . . . ,79 

King Pedro's Revenge, ...... 81 

Guard against a Rainy Day, . . . . . .85 

Hymn of Triumph over Babylon, ..... 86 

On Burning a Packet of Letters, . . . . .90 

A Paraphrase, ....... 92 

The iEolian Harp, . . . . . . .92 

Richmond Hill, ....... 94 

Consolation, ........ 96 

The Lament of Boabdil el Chico, ..... 97 

The Twin Sisters, . . . . . . .104 

A Sketch from Private Life, ..... 105 

Lines written beneath a Portrait, ..... 107 

^tna : A Sketch, ....... 109 

To a Child, after an interval of Absence, .... 112 

A Remonstrance, . . . . . . .114 

A Scene from Faust, ....... 116 

Love and Spring, ....... 119 

The Deserted Cottage, . . . . . . .120 

A Portrait from Real Life, ...... 121 

The Requiem of Youth, . . . . . .123 

A Maiden's Soliloquy, ...... 124 

The Martyrs of Royal-Lieu, . . . . . .125 

The Anniversary, ....... 128 

The Youngling of the Flock, . . . . . .129 

Evening, ........ 132 

A Woman's Farewell, . . . . . . .133 

The Sister of Charity, . . . . . .134 

To Miss M. J. Jewsbury, . . . , . .138 

Guardian Angels, ....... 140 

You Ask Me for a Pledge, Love, ..... 141 

My Native Vale, ....... 142 



CONTENTS 





P.VOE 


To the Memory of George Barret, 


. 145 


A Farewell, ....... 


146 


Scenes of My Childhood, .... 


. 148 


I Think of Thee, ..... 


149 


The Gray Hair, ...... 


. 151 


To a Sleeping Child, .... 


152 


The Girl and the Hawk, .... 


. 156 


The Melody of Youth, .... 


157 


The Exiles, . . ... 


. 158 


Love and Friendship, .... 


159 


The Death of Pompey the Great, 


. 160 


Music, ...... 


164 


Queen Victoria at Spithead, 


165 


On the Statue of a Child, by R. Lane, Esq., . 


. 167 


On the Death of a Young Friend, at Laguira, 


169 


Forget Thee ! No, Never ! . . . . 


. 170 


A Day-Dream, . . . 


171 


Meet Me at Sunset, ..... 


. 174 


Invocation to the Echo of a Sea-shell, 


175 


The Wedding Day, ..... 


. 177 


Sappho, . . . . ... 


180 


To Octavia, ...... 


. 181 


Morning : A Serenade, .... 


184 


Stanzas written at Vaucluse, .... 


. 186 


Woman's Love, ..... 


187 


Amiens Cathedral, ..... 


. 191 


The Closing Scene, . . . . 


193 


On revisiting a Scene of Early Life, 


. 195 


On the Death of a Child, .... 


197 


Egypt Unvisited, ..... 


. 199 


The Avalanche, ..... 


200 


To Poesy, . ..... 


. 202 


The Home of Taliessin, .... 


203 



XU CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I will never Love Thee more, . . . . . . 204 

A Lament for the Fairies, ...... 205 

Napoleon's Dream, ....... 208 

To a Child blowing Bubbles, ..... 212 

The Love of Poetry not Extinct, ..... 213 

The Lighthouse, ....... 220 

Rhine Song, .....;.. 221 

Lines written in the Poems of AVordsworth, . . . 222 

I've Roamed the wide World over, ..... 223 

A Woman's last Song, ...... 224 

Inscription, ........ 227 

Remonstrance to Thomas Campbell, . . . ' . 227 
A Christmas Song, . . . . . . .229 

Thou hast Flashed on my Sight, ..... 230 

Envoy, ......... 231 

Notes, . . . . . . . .241 



LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



KIEKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED. 



"The echoes of its vauhs are eloquent; 
The stones have voices, and the walls do live : 
It is the house of Memory !" 

Maturin. 



LoNa years liave passed since last I strayed, 
In boyhood, through thy roofless aisle, 

And watched the mists of eve o'ershade 
Day's latest, loveliest smile ; — 

And saw the bright, broad, moving moon 

Sail up the sapphire skies of June ! 

The air around was breathing balm ; 

The aspen scarcely seemed to sway ; 
And, as a sleeping infant calm. 

The river flowed away. 
Devious as error, deep as love. 
And blue and bright as heaven above ! 

Steeped in a flood of golden light, — 
Type of that hour of deep repose, — 
5 



18 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

In wan, wild beauty on my sight, 
Thy time-worn tower arose, — 
Brightening above the wreck of years, 
Like Faith amid a world of fears. 

I climbed its dark and dizzy stair. 
And gained its ivy-mantled brow ; 

But broken — ruined — who may dare 
Ascend that pathway now ? 

Life was an upward journey then ; — 

When shall my spirit mount again ! ♦ 

The steps in youth I loved to tread, 
Have sunk beneath the foot of Time ; 

Like them the daring hopes that led 
Me, once, to heights sublime. 

Ambition's dazzling dreams are o'er. 

And I may scale those heights no more ! 

And years have fled, and now I stand 
Once more beside thy shattered fane, 

Nerveless alike in heart and hand. 
How changed by grief and pain, 

Since last I loitered here, and deemed 

Life was the fairy thing it seemed ! 

And gazing on thy crumbling walls, 
What visions meet my mental eye ; 

For every stone of thine recalls 
Some trace of years gone by ; — 

Some cherished bliss, too frail to last. 

Some hope decayed, or passion past ! 



KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED. 19 

A J, thoughts come thronging on my soul, 

Of sunny youth's delightful morn ; 
When free from Sorrow's dark control, 

By pining Care unworn, — 
Dreaming of Fame, and Fortune's smile, 
I lingered in thy ruined aisle ! 

How many a wild and withering woe 

Hath seared my trusting heart since then ; 

What clouds of hlight, consuming slow 
The springs that life sustain, — 

Have o'er my world-vexed spirit passed, 

Sweet Kirkstall, since I saw thee last ! 

How bright is every scene beheld 

In youth and hope's unclouded hours ; 

How darkly, youth and hope dispelled. 
The loveliest prospect lowers : 

Thou wert a splendid vision then ; — 

When wilt thou seem so bright again ! 

Yet still thy turrets drink the light 

Of summer evening's softest ray, 
And ivy-garlands, green and bright, 

Still mantle thy decay ; 
And calm and beauteous as of old, 
Thy wandering river glides in gold. 

But life's gay morn of ecstacy, 

That made thee seem so passing fair, — 

The aspirations wild and high. 
The soul to nobly dare, — 



20 LYKICS OF THE HEART. 

Oh, where are they, stern ruin, say? — 
Thou dost but echo — where are they ! 

Adieu ! — Be still to other hearts 
What thou wert long ago to mine ; 

And when the blissful dream departs, 
Do thou a beacon shine, ^ 

To guide the mourner, through his tears, 

To the blest scenes of happier years. 

Farewell ! — I ask no prouder boon. 
Than that my parting hour may be 

Bright as the evening skies of June ; — 
Thus, thus to fade like thee. 

With heavenly Faith's soul-cheering ray 

To gild with glory my decay ! 



TO NINE SISTERS. 

Let other bards their homage pay 

To Sisters all have dubbed "divine;" 
A love sincerer prompts my lay, 

To hymn a less immortal Nine. 
What hath my humble lyre to do 

With goddesses too fine for earth. 
Whose simple music ever drew 

Its power from spells of lowlier birth 

A wild, ^olian lute, whose strings. 
By nature swayed, no sounds impart, 




7 /^ -^ , /y^jy/'y 



TO NINE SISTERS. 21 

Save wlien some fitful feeling flings 
Its breeze-like impulse o'er my heart ; 

But waking gentle echoes oft, 

Where prouder strains might fail to move ; — 

Fond, brooding thoughts, and visions soft, 
Of fireside peace, and home-bred love. 

In years long past, when life was new, 

Ere Time or Care had touched my brow. 
My earliest songs were given to you ; 

Come back and be my Muses now ! 
Now that my heart is faint and worn 

With many a vigil dark and long. 
And I have learned those hues to mourn 

That brightened once my hopes and song. 

The smiles that lit my path of yore. 

And bade my lyre responsive thrill, 
May plume my flagging wing once more^ 

May raise my drooping spirit still : 
Oh, could that sunshine bring again 

The high resolves my boyhood knew, 
Haply, I then might wake a strain 

Worthier a poet's fame and you ! 

The bounding pulse, ingenuous glee,. 

That spring-like, rich, romantic gleam, 
Which tinges everything we see. 

And makes our youth one blessed dream, — 
A summer day, of deep delight. 

When not a threatening cloud is near, 
When all is beauty to the sight. 

And all is music to the ear ! 
6 



22 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

And such my life when Hope was young, 

And the bright world before me lay, 
And visions of enchantment flung 

Their glories on my lonely way. 
Yes, such was life to me, when first 

Inspired by you, my gentlest Nine, 
Eresh from the fount of feeling burst 

The strains that wreathed your names with mine ! 

Ye, too, are changed : the playful child. 

My Muse of mirth in other days, 
That bade me share her gambols wild, 

And charmed me with her winning ways, — - 
Is now a child no more ; — but moves 

"With slower step, sedater air ; 
With many a grace her poet loves, 

But not the smiles she used to wear. 

And ye, o'erstepping then the bound 

'Twixt girlhood's bloom and woman's beauty, 
Whose hearts the hallowed bliss have found 

Of matron love, and matron duty, — 
Long o'er your happy circles reign. 

And watch love's budding flowers unfold ; 
But never can you be again 

The gladsome band you were of old ! 

Yet ye shall be my Muses still, 

By Memory painted as of yore ; 
Still shall my harp responsive thrill 

To spells it oft hath owned before : 
The meeter inspiration far 

Those unambitious chords to move, 



TEN YEARS AGO. 23 

Whose cherished themes so often are 

Childhood's sweet smiles, and Woman's love. 

Let loftier bards their tributes brina: 

o 

To nymphs of more uncertain mood ; 
Whilst grateful memory bids me sing 

A fairer, kinder Sisterhood : 
For them may Faith's bright beacon shine ; 

Its grace in God's good time be given ; 
So shall they shame the heathen Nine, 

And be immortal, too, in heaven ! 



TEN YEARS AGO. 



"That time is past, 
And all its aching- joys are now no more, 
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 
Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts 
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe, 
ALiundant recompense." 

WoRDswoiixn. 



Ten years ago, ten' years ago, 

Life was to us a fairy scene. 
And the keen blasts of worldly woe 

Had sered not then its pathway green ; 
Youth and its thousand dreams were ours, — 

Feelings we ne'er can know again, — 
Unwithered hopes, unwasted powers, 

And frames unworn by mortal pain : 



24 . LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

^ 

Such was tlie bright and genial flow 
Of life with us — ten years ago ! 

II. 

Time has not blanched a single hair 

That clusters round thy forehead now ; 
Nor hath the cankering touch of Care 

Left even one furrow on thy brow. 
Thine eyes are bright as when we met. 

In love's deep truth, in earlier years; 
Thy rosy cheek is blooming yet, 

Though sometimes stained by secret tears ;— 
But where, oh where's the spirit's glow 
That shone through all — ten years ago ! 

III. 

I, too, am changed, I scarce know why ; 

I feel each flagging pulse decay ; 
And youth, and health, and visions high, 

Melt like a wreath of snow away ! 
Time cannot sure have wrought the ill ; 

Though worn in this world's sickening strife 
In soul and form, — I linger still 

In the first summer month of life ; 
Yet journey on my path below, — 
Oh, how unlike — ten years ago ! 

IV. 

But look not thus ; I would not give 

The wreck of hopes that thou must share. 

To bid those joyous hours revive. 
When all around me seemed so fair : 



TEN YEARS AGO. 25 

We've wandered on in sunny weather, 

When winds were low and flowers in bloom ; 

And hand in hand have kept together, 

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom ; 

Endeared by ties we could not know, 

When life was young — ten years ago ! 



Has Fortune frowned ? — Her frowns were vain. 

For hearts like ours she could not chill ; 
Have friends proved false ? — Their love might wane. 

But ours grew fonder, firmer still ! 
Twin barks on this world's changing wave, 

Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried, 
In concert still our fate we'll brave. 

Together cleave life's fitful tide ; 
Nor mourn, whatever blasts may blow, 
Youth's first wild dreams — ten years ago ! 



VI. 

Have we not knelt beside his bed, 

And watched our first-born blossom die ; 
Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled, 

Then wept till feeling's fount was dry ! 
Was it not sweet in that sad hour 

To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs, 
Our bud had left its earthly bower. 

And burst to bloom in Paradise : — 
What, to the thought that soothed that woe, 
Were heartless joys — ten years ago ! 
7 



26 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



VII. 



Yes, it is sweet, when Heaven is bright. 

To share its sunny beams with thee ! 
But even more sweet, 'mid clouds and blight, 

To have thee near to weep with me : 
Then dry those tears, though somewhat changed 

From what we were in earlier youth, — 
Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged, 

Hath left us love in all its truth ; — 
Sweet feelings we would not forego. 
For life's best joys — ten years ago ! 



MY OWN FIRESIDE. 



"It is a mystic circle that surrounds 
Comforts and virtues never known beyond 
Its hallowed limit." 

SOUTHEY. 



Let others seek for empty joys, 

At ball or concert, rout or play ; 
Whilst, far from Fashion's idle noise. 

Her gilded domes and trappings gay, 
I while the wintry eve away, 

'Twixt book and lute the hours divide ; 
And marvel how I e'er could stray 

From thee — my own fireside ! 

My own fireside ! Those simple words 
Can bid the sweetest dreams arise ; 



MY OWN FIRESIDE. 27 

Awaken feeling's tenderest chords, 
And fill with tears of joy mine eyes. 

What is there my wild heart can prize, 
That doth not in thy sphere abide ; 

Haunt of my home-bred sympathies, 
My own — my own fireside ! 

A gentle form is near me now ; 

A small white hand is clasped in mine ; 
I gaze upon her placid brow, 

And ask, what joys can equal thine : 
A babe, whose beauty's half divine. 

In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide ; 
Where may Love seek a fitter shrine. 

Than thou, my own fireside ! 

What care I for the sullen roar 

Of winds without, that ravage earth ; 
It doth but bid me prize the more 

The shelter of thy hallowed hearth ; — 
To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth ; 

Then let the churlish tempest chide, 
It cannot check the blameless mirth 

That glads my own fireside ! 

My refuge ever from the storm 

Of this world's passion, strife, and care ; 
Though thunder-clouds the skies deform. 

Their fury cannot reach me there ; 
There all is cheerful, calm, and fair ; 

Wrath, Envy, Malice, Strife, or Pride, 
Hath never made its hated lair. 

By thee — my own fireside ! 



28 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Thy precincts are a charmed ring, 

Where no harsh feeling dares intrude ; 
Where life's vexations lose their sting ; 

Where even grief is half subdued ; 
And Peace, the halcyon, loves to brood. 

Then, let the world's proud fool deride ; 
I'll pay my debt of gratitude 

To thee — my own fireside ! 

Shrine of my household deities ; 

Bright scene of home's unsullied joys ; 
To thee my burthened spirit flies. 

When Fortune frowns, or Care annoys ! 
Thine is the bliss that never cloys ; 

The smile whose truth has oft been tried ;- 
What, then, are this world's tinsel toys, 

To thee — my own fireside ! 

Oh, may the yearnings, fond and sweet. 

That bid my thoughts be all of thee. 
Thus ever guide my wandering feet 

To thy heart-soothing sanctuary ! 
Whate'er my future years may be. 

Let joy or grief my fate betide ; 
Be still an Eden bright to me, 

My own — my own fireside ! 



MAY-FLOWERS. 29 



MAY-FLOWERS 

FOUND AFTER THE LAPSE OF TEAKS IN A VOLUME OF " BURNS.' 

"Life went a-Maying 
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
When I was young." 

Coleridge. 

Memorial frail of youtliful years, 

Of hopes as wild and bright as they, 
Thy faint, sweet perfume calls up tears 

I may not, cannot wish away ! 
Thy withered leaves are as a spell 

To bring the sainted past before me ; 
And long-lost scenes, but loved too well. 

In all their truth restore me. 

Cold is her hand who placed thee here. 

Thou record sad of Love and Spring, 
Ere life's May-flowers, like thee, grew sere. 

Or Hope had waved her parting wing : 
When Boyhood's burning dreams were mine, 

And Fancy's magic circlet crowned me ; 
And Love, when love is half divine. 

Spread its enchantments 'round me ! 

How can I e'er forget the hour 

When thou wert glowing on her breast, 

Fresh from the dewy hawthorn bower 
That looked upon the golden west ! 



80 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

She snatched thee from thy sacred shrine, — 
A brighter fate she scarce could doom thee, 

And bade a Poet's wreath be thine, — 
His deathless page entomb thee. 

That hour is past, those dreams have fled ; 

Ties, sweeter, holier, bind me now ; 
And, if life's first May-flowers are dead, 

Its summer garland wreathes my brow. 
Sleep on, sleep on ! I would but gaze 

A moment on thy faded bloom ; 
Heave one wild sigh to other days, 

Then close thy hallowed tomb ! 



THE PAINTER'S DREAM. 



Here let me rest ; a dewy fragrance breathes 
In gentlest whispers, from the plains around. 
Whilst o'er my head, in green and graceful wreaths. 
The o'erarching vine its wandering shoots hath wound : 
What rainbow hues yon bright horizon bound ! 
What golden gleams yon sleeping spires invest ! 
Here let me pause, — it is enchanted ground ; 
Hence, let me brood upon yon burning west. 
Where sun-touched Florence lies, like Love on Beauty's breast ! 

II. 

But not alone to chain the roving eye. 

Doth yon fair scene its magic marvels spread ; 



THE painter's DREAM. 31 

It hath a holier spell, a charm more high — 
The haunt, the birth-place of the glorious dead ! 
There Raffaelle oft his heavenly fancy fed 
With thoughts and visions all too pure for earth ; 
There Buonaroti's dreams, — of darkness bred. 
And Hell's wild grandeur, — taste-sublimed, had birth ; 
Two bright but differing stars, of kindred fame and worth. 

III. 

Unequalled masters of that Art divine 
Which makes our visions palpable as bright ; 
'Neath whose keen eye, and touch creative, shine 
Unnumbered shapes of wonder and delight ; — 
Surpassing rivals in Fame's boundless flight ; 
Twin heirs of Genius and her broad domain ; 
One, seeking sunshine in the realms of light, 
The other courting Horror's grisly train, 
And drawing strength from Hate, sublimity from Pain ! 

IV. 

Transcendent Raffaelle, thy accomplished mind. 
Irradiate, teemed with beauty, love, and grace ! 
What pure simplicity, by taste refined. 
In all thy forms the studious eye may trace ! 
What seraph brightness breathes from every face 
Thy glowing mind hath on thy canvass poured ; 
How doth thy mind his humbled heart abase, 
Who seeks, a votary true, thy shrine adored. 
To win a touch, a charm, — and his despair record ! 

V. 

Nor less his fame, to whose proud hand 'twas given. 
The Judgment Day's terrific tale to tell ; 



32 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Who, if he sometimes caught his fire from Heaven, 
Would oftener snatch it from the depths of Hell ; 
The fiercer passions owned his wondrous spell ; 
Titanic grief that will not yield to Time ; 
Revenge, Remorse, and Hate unquenchable, — 
The weltering ofi'spring of Despair and Crime, — 
Touched by his wand, uprise in agony sublime ! 

VI. 

But, lo ! what vision bursts upon my sight ! 
What shapes, what hues, yon opening doors unfold ! 
What rainbow forms are glancing in the light 
Showered from yon gorgeous roof of fretted gold ! 
Whence spring the dazzling tints I now behold ? 
Where am I, where ? — I live, I breathe again ! 
What glorious triumphs of the days of old 
Are gathered 'round : Ausonia, France, and Spain, 
Your brightest dreams I see ; I have not toiled in vain ! 

VII. 

There Guide's Mary looks in faith on high ; 
There Salvi's Nun in silent prayer doth bow; 
There Claude's bright, rippling wave and sunset sky, 
Salvator's storm-rent rock and mountain brow, 
And Poussin's classic glooms are gathering now ; — 
There Carlo Dolci's matchless anguish droops ; 
There golden Titian's living beauties glow ; 
There graceful Watteau spreads his courtly groups ; 
And 'neath his ponderous cross, Del Sarto's Saviour stoops ! 

VIII. 

There bright Giorgione's blue-eyed consort shines, 
A rival star to Titian's gay brunette ; 



THE PAINTER S DREAM. 

There pure Coreggio's reading mourner pines ; 
And crystal Cuyp's delicious sun hath set; 
There Spagnoletto's dying Anchoret, 
And Caravaggio's slaughtered Martyrs lie ; 
There deep, clear Ruysdael's Twilight lingers yet ; 
Romano's battle steeds are thundering by ; 
And Cagliari's Feast salutes the broad, blue sky ! 

IX. 

There, too, Albano's Sea Nymphs float along ; 
Guercino's Hagar sheds upbraiding tears ; 
Piombo's Lazar in his faith is strong ; 
And Vinci's Judith still the charger bears ; — 
There polished Teniers' festive evening wears ; 
Velasquez's Infant smiles in fadeless youth; 
Zampieri's Sibyl lifts the veil of years ; 
Hobbema's sunlit slopes, and mill-stream smooth. 
And Rembrandt's shadowy power, reflect immortal truth ! 

X. 

And more, yet more ! the fierce Giotto there, 
His victim tortured, triumphs in his pain ; 
There Mazzuoli's Vision, bright and fair. 
From robber-spoilers hath escaped again ; 
And Berretino's Sabines shriek in vain ! 
There full of faith the good St. Bruno dies ; 
There Snyders' yelling bloodhounds burst their chain : 
There gorgeous Rubens' emblemed Triumphs rise ; 
And Vandyck's Charles uplifts his mild, reproachful eyes. 

XI. 

The sun hath sunk behind yon city gay. 
Where purple hues are fleckering all the sky ; 

9 



34 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And Twilight weaves her web of night and day ; 
And, one by one, the stars look out on high ; 
But as the feathery clouds sail slowly by 
The crimson flush that tracks their monarch's way. 
Each snow-white billow takes a deeper dye. 
Each silvery wreath grows brighter in the ray. 
Till all have shared the spell, and, smiling, passed away ! 

XII. 

And thus my heart, when I have ceased to gaze. 
Enchanting Florence, on thy fanes sublime. 
Will strive to trace the bright, immortal blaze 
That rises round thee from the depths of Time ! 
And though I leave thee for a colder clime ; 
Still memory's halo, lingering pensively. 
Shall steep my soaring visions as they climb ; 
Till many an aim, wish, feeling, hope shall be 
To brighter issues touched by thoughts of thine and thee ! 



FOR EVER THINE. 

For ever thine, whate'er this heart betide ; 

For ever mine, where'er our lot be cast ; 
Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside. 

Shall leave us love — till life itself be past. 

The world may wrong us ; we will brave its hate ; 

False friends may change, and falser hopes decline ; 
Though bowed by cankering cares, we smile at Fate, 

Since thou art mine, beloved, and I am thine ! 



FOR EVER THINE. 35 

For ever thine; wlien circling years have spread 
Time's snowy blossom's o'er thy placid brow ; 

When youth's rich glow, its "purple light," hath fled, 
And lilies bloom where roses flourish now; — 

Say, shall I love the fading beauty less 

Whose spring-tide radiance has been wholly mine ? — 
No ; come what will, thy steadfast truth I'll bless, 

In youth, in age, — thine own, for ever thine ! 

For ever thine ; at evening's dewy hour. 

When gentle hearts to tenderest thoughts incline ; 

When balmiest odours from each closing flower 
Are breathing 'round me, — thine, for ever thine ! 

For ever thine ; 'mid Fashion's heartless throng ; 

In courtly bowers, at Folly's gilded shrine ; 
Smiles on my cheek, light words upon my tongue, 

My deep heart still is thine, — for ever thine ! 

For ever thine ; amid the boisterous crowd. 

Where the jest sparkles, with the sparkling wine, 

I never breathe thy gentle name aloud. 

But drink to thee, in thought, — for ever thine ! 

I would not, sweet, profane that silvery sound, 
The depths of love could such rude hearts divine ; 

Let the loud laughter peal, the toast go round. 
My inmost thoughts are thine, — for ever thine ! 

For ever thine, whate'er this heart betide ; 

For ever mine, where'er our lot be cast ; 
Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside. 

Shall leave us love, — till life itself be past ! 



LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



WE MET WHEN LIFE AND HOPE WERE NEW. 

We met '^hen life and hope were new, 

When all we looked on smiled ; 
And Fancy's wand around us threw 

Enchantments, sweet as wild : 
Ours were the light and bounding hearts 

The world had yet to wring ; 
The bloom, that when it once departs, 

Can know no second spring. 

What though our love was never told, — 

Or breathed in sighs alone ; 
By signs that would not be controlled. 

Its growing strength was shown : — 
The touch that thrilled us with delight ; 

The glance by art untamed ; 
In one short moon, as brief as bright. 

The tender truth proclaimed. 

We parted, chilling looks among ; 

My inmost soul was bowed ; 
And blessings died upon my tongue, 

I dared not breathe aloud : — 
A pensive smile, serene and bland. 

One thrilling glance — how vain ! 
A pressure of thy yielding hand ; 

We never met again ! 



THE BIRTH OF THE FIRST-BORN. 37 

Yet still a spell was in thy name, 

Of magic power to me ; 
That bade me strive for wealth and fame, 

To make me worthy thee : 
And long through many an after-year. 

When boyhood's dream had flown. 
With nothing left to hope or fear, 

I loved, in silence, on ! 

More sacred ties, at length, are ours, 

As dear as those of yore ; 
And later joys, like autumn-flowers. 

Have bloomed for us once more I 
But never canst thou be again. 

What once thou wert to me ; — 
I glory in another's chain, — 

And thou'rt no longer free. 

Thy stream of life glides calmly on, 

A prosperous lot is thine ; 
The brighter that it did not join 

The turbid waves of mine ; 
Yet oh ! might fondest love relume 

Joy's sunshine on my brow. 
Thine scarce can be a happier doom 

Than I may boast of now. 



THE BIRTH OF THE FIRST-BORN. 

Never did music sink into my soul 
So "silver sweet," as when thy first weak Avail 
10 



38 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

On my rapt ear in doubtful murmurs stole, 

Thou child of love and promise ! — What a tale 

Of hopes and fears, of gladness and of gloom, 

Hung on that slender filament of sound ! 

Life's guileless pleasures and its griefs profound 

Seemed mingling in thy horoscope of doom. 

Thy bark is launched, and lifted is thy sail 

Upon the weltering billows of the world ; 

But oh ! may winds far gentler than have hurled 

My struggling vessel on, for thee prevail ; — 

Or, if thy voyage must be rough, mayst thou 

Soon 'scape the storm and be — as blest as I am now ! 



TO A PORTRAIT. 

PAINTED BY THE LATE G. S. NEWTON, ESQ., B. A., PROM AN OLD MINIATURE, 
SAID TO BE OF NELL GWYNN. 

Beautiful and radiant girl ! 
I have heard of teeth of pearl. 
Lips of coral, cheeks of rose. 
Necks and brows like drifted snows. 
Eyes, as diamonds sparkling bright, 
Or the stars of summer's night. 
And expression, grace, and soul. 
Softly tempering down the whole : 
But a form so near divine. 
With a face so fair as thine. 
And so sunny bright a brow, 
Never met my gaze till now : 
Thou wert Venus' sister twin. 
If this shade be thine — Nell Gwynn ! 



TO A PORTRAIT. 39 

Cast that carcanet away, 

Thou hast need of no display, — 

Gems, however rare, to deck 

Such an alabaster neck. 

Can the brilliant's lustre vie 

With the glories of thine eye ; 

Or the ruby's red compare 

With the two lips breathing there ? 

Can they add a richer glow 

To thy beauties ? No, sweet, no ! 

Though thou bear'st the name of one 

Whom 'twas virtue once to shun, — 

It were sure to taste a sin. 

Now to pass thee by — Nell Gwynn. 

But they've wronged thee ; and I swear 

By that brow so dazzling fair, — 

By the chastened light that flashes 

From thy drooping lids' long lashes ; 

By the deep blue eyes beneath them ; 

By the clustering curls that wreathe them ; 

By thy softly blushing cheek ; 

By thy lips, that more than speak ; 

By thy stately, swan-like neck, 

Glossy white without a speck ; 

By thy form, so passing fair. 

Modest mien, and graceful air ; 

'Twas a burning shame and sin. 

Sweet, to christen thee Nell Gwynn ! 

Wreathe for aye thy snowy arms, 
Thine can be no wanton's charms ! 
Like the fawn's, as bright and shy, 
Beams thy soft, retiring eye ; 



40 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

No bold invitation's given 

From the depths of that blue heaven, 

Nor one glance of lightness hid 

'Neath its pale, declining lid ! 

No ; I'll not believe thy name 

Can be aught allied to shame ! 

Then let them call thee what they will, 

I've sworn, and I'll maintain it still, — 

Despite tradition's idle din, — 

Thou art not, canst not be, Nell Gwynn ! 



RUTH. 



Intreat me not to leave thee so, 

Or turn from following thee ; 
Where'er thou goest I will go, 

Thy home my home shall be ! 

The path thou treadest, hear my vow, 

By me shall still be trod ; 
Thy people be my people now ; 

Thy God shall be my God ! 

Reft of all else, to thee I cleave, 

Content if thou art nigh ; 
Whene'er thou grievest, I will grieve, 

And where thou diest, die ! 

And may the Lord, whose hand hath wrought 

This weight of misery. 
Afflict me so, and more, if aught 

But death part thee and me ! 



HE NEVER SAID HE LOVED ME. 41 



HE NEVER SAID HE LOVED ME. 

He never said he loved me ; 

Nor hymned my beauty's praise ; 
Yet there was something more than words 

In his full, ardent gaze : 
He never gave his passion voice ; 

Yet on his flushing cheek, 
I read a tale more tender far 

Than softest tones could speak ! 

He never said he loved me ; 

Yet, when none else were nigh, 
How could I hear and doubt the truth, 

His low, unbidden sigh ! 
The throbs of his tumultuous heart. 

That faint, sweet breath above ; 
What tongue could syllable so well 

The tale of hope and love ! 

He never said he loved me ; 

To silent worship vowed. 
The deep devotion of his soul 

He never breathed aloud ; — 
Though if he raised his voice in song. 

As swelled each tenderer tone. 
It seemed as if designed to reach 

My ear and heart alone ! 
11 



42 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

He never said he loved me ; 

Yet the conviction came, 
Like some great truth that stirs the soul 

Ere yet it knows its name ! 
Some angel-whisper of a faith 

That long defied our ken, 
And made us almost feel that life 

Had scarce begun till then ! 

And have I said I loved him ? 

Alas, for maiden pride. 
That feeling he hath ne'er revealed, 

I have not learned to hide ! 
And yet clairvoyant Love informs 

His votaries' hearts so well. 
That long before 'tis time to speak, 

There's nothing left to tell 1 



THEY ARE NO MORE. 



"lis ne sont plusl" 

Old French Song. 



They are no more, they are no more. 

The ardent hopes and visions high, 
That filled my glowing heart of yore, 

And gave my fancy wings to fly ; 
The love I thought would never die ; 

The faith that every doubt forbore ; 
The stalwart arm and eagle eye ; — 

They are no more, they are no more ! 



THEY ARE NO MOEE. "^ 43 

The trusted friends, companions gay, 

Who trod with me youth's pleasant road, 
Who cheered me on my 'venturous way, 

And lightened half the pilgrim's load ; 
Where are they now ? Estranged or dead. 

Or wanderers on some distant shore ; 
By fate impelled, or fancy led. 

To me, alas, they are no more ! 

And where are now, oh, where are now, 

The buoyant step, and lighter heart ; 
The cordial smile, untroubled brow, 

That once were of my life a part ? 
Warped, withered, chilled by bitter wrong. 

My heart's best impulses are o'er ; 
Even fancy's spells, the power of Song, 

They are no more, they are no more ! 

With nothing left to live for here, 

I fain would pass in peace away; 
My heart and hopes alike grow sere. 

Why should I longer here delay ; 
So that some being of kindred clay, — 

Life's wild and fitful fever o'er, — 
May of my faults but, sorrowing, say 

They are no more, they are no more ! 



44 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



GREECE. 

"WRITTEN IN DOCTOR C. WORDSWORTH'S "GREECE." 

Land of heroic deeds and deathless song ; 

Thou Pharos bright to many a wondering age : 
What glorious shapes around me seem to throng, 

Whene'er I turn thy sad, eventful page ! 

Fall'n as thou art, thy form hath not yet lost 

The regal aspect that of old it wore ; 
Ruined and wronged, discrowned and tempest-tossed, 

Ghost of the godlike thing thou wert of yore ! 

A halo rests upon each crumbling fane, 

And bathes in light each mountain pinnacle ; 

And thy broad ocean, and thy battle plain. 
Sleep in the twilight of thy glory still ! 

Though tower and temple, tomb and shrine decay. 
Till not a stone remains their tale to tell ; 

Time cannot wear the eternal hills away. 

Nor stay the rivers from their sides that well ! 

He cannot blot from out thy fading face 
Platsea's field, the Plain of Marathon ; 

The site of "sea-born Salamis" erase; 

Or cloud the fame thy dauntless chiefs have won. 



GREECE. 45 

Still Jove's Olympus cleaves the upper sky, 
And Peneus winds fair Tempe's vale along ; 

Parnassus lifts his forked head on high, 
And Castaly still weeps her tears of song. 

There too the Muses' mount, from whose pure breast, 
No noxious herb was ever known to spring ; 

With its twin fountains in their bright unrest, 
And murmuring bees for ever on the wing. 

And there Hymettus, "flowery hill," looks down 
On Plato's haunts, the groves of Academe ; 

The immortal city, with her marble crown ; 
And smooth Ilissus' ever devious stream. 

And by her guardian Titans circled round, 
Its name a spell-word sweet that typifies 

Whate'er of peace on earth may yet be found, 
Thy verdant vale, divine Arcadia, lies ! 

Than war more ruthless, though the Muses' bower, 
(" The great Emathian conqueror bid spare,") 

Hath felt, at length. Time's desolating power. 
And lifts its crownless head in "ruin bare;" 

He cannot chase the glowing forms from earth 
That people still each valley, hill, and stream ; 

He may not drive from our domestic hearth. 
The fond beliefs o'er which we love to dream : 

The old traditions ; linking many a name 

With deeds, even now, that wake a wondering thrill ; 
With tales of gentle hearts, and souls of flame, 

Whose loves and sorrows stir our pity still ! 

12 



46 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 

There Lesbian Sappho, from Leucadia's steep, 
Darts, — in the deep her burning heart to hide ; 

There Hero loves her fruitless watch to keep. 
With waving torch, by Helle's stormy tide ! 

And by her rock on Naxos' desert shore. 

With streaming eyes, and clasped, beseeching hands 

Outstretched to one, who will return no more, 
The fond, too trusting Ariadne stands ! 

Still Hero's love and faithful sorrow live ; 

Leander's daring heart and vigorous arm ; — 
Still Sappho's wild, despairing griefs survive 

In kindred hearts as erring and as warm. 

And many an Ariadne, left to weep 

O'er broken vows her blighted life away ; 

Her hopeless vigils still is doomed to keep ; 
For faith too deep the forfeit sad to pay. 

Beautiful dreams, though sorrowful as sweet, 
Cold is the creed that would your truth deny ; 

Is woman's deep, devoted love a cheat ; 
Or man's caprice a thing of days gone by ? 

Land of heroic deeds and deathless song ; 

Though thou canst never be thyself again ; 
Though parricidal hands have wrought thee wrong 

That makes all hope for thee but wild and vain ; 

Till Valour, Wisdom, Genius, Liberty, 

Stars of this nether sphere, have ceased to shine ; 

Thy sacred name the trumpet-call shall be ; 
To wake ennobling thoughts of thee and thine ! 



LEAVES FROM A POET'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 



LEAVES FROM A POET'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

WRITTEN ON THE FIFTIETH ANNIVEESART OF THE AUTHOK's BIRTHDAY, 
UNDER CIRCUMSTANCES OF GREAT MENTAL DEPRESSION. 

Tell me not a radiant morrow 

Follows oft the gloomiest night ; 
That the darkest cloud of sorrow 

Sometimes hides a world of light ; 
If the heart hath long been pining, 

Faint and sick with hope's delay, 
And the star above us shining, 

Veils from earth its guiding ray. 

Evil days have overtaken, 

With their storm-charged clouds my way ; 
And my soul, till now unshaken. 

Shrinks within its coil of clay : 
Even the Muse, — invoked not often, 

Save to soothe the spirit's wrong. 
Pride to tame, or grief to soften, — 

Half withholds the power of Song ! 

Foul Oppression, fiercer, stronger. 

That her step I strove to stay. 
Till my feeble arm no longer 

Might her trampling hoofs delay, — 
Treads me down : no more my trust is 

In my buoyant faith of old ; 



48 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

What can Reason, Truth, or Justice, 
'Gainst the giant might of gold ! 

Stormy skies are lowering o'er me ; 

Raging hillows gird me round ; 
And the gloom that spreads before me 

Grows but more and more profound : 
. Not a beacon-light is left me, 

To my distant port a clew ; 
Fate, at one fell swoop, hath reft me 

Of both chart and compass too ! 

Like a gallant ship succumbing, 

That no more obeys her helm. 
Bide I now the tenth wave coming, 

With its mandate to o'erwhelm : 
O'er my hopes, a clean breach making. 

Sweeps that flood of wreck and wrong ; 
Rending stays, and bulwarks breaking. 

Which I once believed so strong ! 

Whilst upon the scene of ruin. 

From his covert safe on high. 
On the storm his work is doing, 

Glares the Wrecker's baleful eye ! 
As the stout ship goes to pieces. 

Torn each stalwart limb from limb, 
How his sordid joy increases. 

If some fragment drifts to him ! 

Once, of old, my glad way winning, 
Youth and Hope both led me on ; 

Now, once more the world beginning, 
Hope and Youth alike are gone : 



LEAVES PROM A POET'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 49 

Sad Experience, bought how dearly, 

Cruel, seldom to be kind ; 
Like the stern-light, shows too clearly 

But the track we leave behind ! 

Friends with whom in youth I started 

On life's first adventurous way, 
Once so warm and genial-hearted, 

One by one have dropped away ! 
Some, earth's vain turmoil exchanging 

For the land that knows no wrong ; 
Others Fortune's smiles estranging 

From the weak, when they grow strong ! 

Summer friends, like swallows trooping. 

Come when sunshine warms the heart. 
But at winter's advent drooping. 

For less chilling skies depart : 
Foes, like stormy petrels flocking 

'Round the doomed and labouring bark. 
Deepening woe, misfortune mocking, ^ 

Come when heaven is wild and dark ! 

Many a year, ambition dulling. 

Irksome labour claimed my pen ; 
At the oar incessant pulling 

'Mid the stir and strife of men ! 
From more calm pursuits diverted 

To a task I plied in vain, 
Tastes abandoned, haunts deserted. 

Which, though late, I seek again ! 

« 
Long Fate's adverse current cleaving. 

With a bold and sturdy stroke, 
13 



50 LYEICSOFTHEHEART. 

Hoping still, and still believing, 
Did I bear tliat galling yoke ! 

Day and night, not seldom, toiling, 
Wanting that which sweetens toil ; 

Life of half its joys despoiling. 
Bartering peace for wild turmoil ! 

Manhood's vigorous prime exhausted ; 

All the flowering years of life ; 
Health impaired, acquirements wasted 

In that long and fruitless strife ; 
Just as Fortune's tide was turning. 

And my respite all but won ; 
For the hard-earned haven yearning. 

But for others' sakes alone ; 

Lawless E-apine, hundred-handed, 

Sordid, cunning, bold, and strong. 
With her base familiars banded, 

Falsehood, Fraud, Kevenge, and Wrong ; 
Of that poor reward bereft me ; 

Swept my household Gods away ; 
Ravaged even my hearth, and left me, 

Save in heaven, no single stay ! 

But the great and just Redresser, 

(Who may 'scape unscathed His frown ?) 
That can strike the rich oppressor 

In his rampant triumph down ; 
May vouchsafe me his protection, 

Sweeten even this bitter cup ; 
And from "profitless dejection" 

Lift my trampled spirit up ! 



A LADY IN A FLORENTINE COSTUME. 51 



A LADY IN A FLORENTINE COSTUME. 

Art thou some vision of the olden time ; 

Some glowing type of beauty, faded long ; 
A radiant daughter of that radiant clime, 

Renowned for sunshine, chivalry, and song ? 

Was it for thee that Tasso woke in vain 

The love-lorn 'plainings of his matchless lyre ; 

Was thine the frown that chilled him with disdain, — 
Crushed his wild hopes, and quenched his minstrel fire ? 

Or art thou she for whom young Guide pined ; 

Whom Raffaelle saw in his impassioned dream ; 
The ray that flashed, in slumber, on his mind. 

And o'er his canvass shed so bright a beam ? 

No, no ; — a masquer in its gay attire, 

A breathing mockery of Ausonia's grace ; — 

Thine is a charm as fitted to inspire. 

With more than all their sweetness in thy face. 

I see thee stand, in beauty's richest bloom, — 

In youth's first budding spring, — before me now ; 

A shade of tenderest sadness, not of gloom. 

Tempering the brightness of thy jewelled brow ! 

Thy dark hair clustering 'round thy pensive face. 
Like shadowy clouds about a summer-moon ; 



52 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Thy fair hands folded with a queenly grace ; 
Thy cheek soft blushing like the rose in June. 

Thine eyelid gently drooping o'er an eye 

Whose chastened light bespeaks the soul within 

Lips full of sweetness ; maiden modesty, 

That awes the bosoms it hath deigned to win. 

There stand for aye ; defying Time or Care 
To make thee seem less beautiful than now ; 

Years cannot thin that darkly-flowing hair, 
Nor grief indent thy pure and polished brow. 

Whilst unto her from whom those lines had birth, 
A briefer span but brighter doom is given ; 

To wane and wither like a thing of earth. 
And only knOw immortal bloom in heaven. 



TO CAROLINE BOWLES. 

NOW MRS. SOUTHET. 

I KNOW thee only in thy page 

Of simplest truth, by taste refined ; — 

But though I ne'er have seen thy face, 

Not seldom, do I love to trace 
The features of thy mind ! 

Pure as the calm, sequestered stream, 

That winds its way through flowers and fern ; 



TO CAROLINE BOWLES. 58 

Now gliding here, now wandering there, 
Diffusing coolness everywhere. 
Refreshing all in turn : — 

So do thy strains, serene and SAveet, 

Well from their calm, untroubled shrine : 

Winning their way from heart to heart, 

And healing many a mourner's smart. 
With balsam, half divine ! 

What though I ne'er have clasped thy hand, 

I see thee oft in Fancy's glass ; 
'•Edwin" and "Ranger" in thy train. 
Pacing across the village plain. 

The "Broken Bridge" to pass. 

And mark thy devious footsteps threading 
The " Churchyard's" green and grassy rise ; 

Now, stopping by some fresh-made grave. 

News of the timeless dead to crave, 
To make the living wise. 

Or by the "open casement sitting," 

With "autumn's latest flowers" before thee ; 
Drinking thy "Birdie's" merry notes. 
Or tracking the sun as he proudly floats 
To his haven of rest and glory. 

And when gray Twilight weaves her web, 
And the sounds of day-life melt away ; 
In thy "garden-plot" I see thee stand. 
Watching the "night-stock's" leaves expand. 
Or framing some soothing lay. 
14 



54 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

Some low, sweet dirge, of softest power 
To stir the bosom's inmost strings ; — 
When friends departed, pleasures fled, 
Or a sinless infant 'f* dying bed. 
Are the themes thy fancy brings. 

Oh ! much I love to steal away 

From garish strains, that mock my heart ; 
To steep my soul in lays like thine. 
And pause, o'er each wildly-witching line. 

Till my tears, unbidden, start. 

For thou hast ever been to me 

A gentle monitor and friend ; — 
And I have gathered from thy song, 
Thoughts full of balm for grief and wrong, 
That solace while they mend. 

Hence, have I sought in simple phrase. 

To give my gratitude a tongue ; 
And if one stricken heart I bring, 
For comfort, to the self-same spring, 
Not vainly have I sung. 

Adieu ! We ne'er may meet on earth, 

Yet I feel I know thee passing well ; — 
And when a pensive face I see. 
Fair as my cherished thoughts of thee, 
I'll deem it thine — Faeewell ! 



THE NAMELESS TOAST. 55 



A WITHEEED ROSE. 

IN A VOLUME OF UNPUBLISHED POEMS, BY MISS G. F. BOSS. 

Nay, do not touch that faded flower, 

Albeit both scent and hue have flown, 
For it may still retain a power 

Some gentle heart may joy to own : 
Hidden beneath each withered leaf, 

A chastening spell, to memory dear ; 
May yield that burthened heart relief. 

When Hope itself is sere. 

There let it lie, 'mid records sweet. 

By feeling prompted, genius graced ; 
Type of their fate, memorial meet 

Of " young afiections run to waste !" 
Left on their stem — how fugitive — 

Those cherished leaves had soon been shedj 
But thus embalmed, will seem to live. 

Till Memory's self be dead ! 



THE NAMELESS TOAST. 

Health to one whose cherished name, 
'Twere a mockery here to tell ; 



LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Jocund friends forbear to blame, 
If I keep my secret well ! 

Not when revelry grows loud, 

And the jest and song abound, — 

To a holier worship voAved, — 
Would I whisper such a sound ! 

'Tis not incense offered to her, 

In my hours of heartless mirth ; 
But a homage deeper, truer, 

That may best beseem her worth ; 
Yet the toast I will not pass. 

In my heart of hearts I'll think it 
Fill me then a brimming glass, , 

And to HER I LOVE I'll drink it ! 



THE RETURN FROM INDIA. 

" But when returned the youth? The youth no more 
Returned exulting to his native shore ; 
But forty years were past, and then there came 
A worn-out man." 

Crabbe. 

The haunts of my boyhood are gleaming around me. 
All bright in the sunshine that graced them of yore ; 

But where are the heart-cherished hopes that have bound me 
Through the changes of years to this fondly loved shore ? 

Can the riches of earth, that like curses surround me. 
Life's young dream of delight to my longings restore ? 

The same summer landscape beside me is smiling ; 
The same summer ocean before me is spread ; 



/ THERETURNFROMINDIA. 57 

All transparent as truth, and in peace as beguiling, 
As when first from these shores o'er its waters I sped ; 

My lorn heart from each home-nurtured vision exiling, , 
To return when the hopes that were fairest had fled. 

Accursed be the fatal ambition that bore me 

From yon vale of repose and its transports untold ; 

Accursed the dark spell that so long lingered o'er me. 
And detained me from bliss, though with fetters of gold : 

Can my dearly-earned wealth for one moment restore me 
The feelings and thoughts that enchanted of old ! 

But a few painful years, — so I thought in my sorrow, — 
And my spirit shall break so degrading a chain ; 

Yet another, one more, from life's sunshine I'll borrow. 
Then seek the green haunts of my childhood again : 

Seasons waned, wealth increased, still I spake of the morrow ;. 
Now the bubble hath burst, and I seek them in vain ! 

Though the tears when our last parting moments were fleeting, 
And my bark had unfurled her white wings in the bay, 

Were heart-rending and wild, and unwelcome the greeting 
That called me from home's calm enjoyments away, — 

Far keener my anguish, more bitter my meeting 

With the friends who are waiting to clasp me to-day ! 

The willow I planted, meek mourner, is drooping 

Its silver-green boughs yon bright streamlet beside ; — 

What a host of sad thoughts on my memory is trooping, 
Of joys that have withered, and hopes that have died, 

As I turn from that tree, in humility stooping. 

To my stubborner dreams of ambition and pride ! 

15 



58 LYEICSOFTHEHEART. 

Every bush with a burst of wild music is ringing ; 

Not a breath but is loaded with odours divine ; 
In the old trysting-thorn its lone blackbird is singing 

A descant of grief o'er the day-star's decline ; 
And the lark to her nest in the clover is winging 

Her way, with a heart how much lighter than mine ! 

There the old village church in the radiance is burning, 
With its tall chancel-window all flashing with fire ; 

And its glossy green ivy, sun-chequered, is turning 
To gold, as of yore, but seems broader and higher : 

Oh, would that my heart, for calm happiness yearning, 
Thus had learned in the precincts of peace to aspire ! 

What a brood of fond thoughts to my heart-strings are 
clinging ; 

In each tree, each gray stone, some sad record I see ; 
Not a breath o'er yon low garden wall but is flinging 

A perfume abroad that is vocal to me : 
Not a sight, not a sound, not a scent but is bringing 

Some vision of bliss that no longer may be. 

'Neath the roof-tree I stand that o'ershadows the dwelling 
That once shielded my childhood from sorrow and sin ; 

With what breathless emotion my bosom is swelling. 
Now the haven is gained I've so panted to win ; — 

All WITHOUT is the same ; but low whispers are telling 
Of the heart-wringing changes that 'wait me within ! 

Ay, wild is my grief as I gaze on my mother. 
In the tears of her dotage decrepid and weak ; 

As I shrink from the time-wrinkled brow of my brother. 
My sister's sad smile, and her care-stricken cheek ; — 



THE poet's HOME. 59 

Then look roimcl for the welcome and kiss of another ; 

Till a glance hath revealed more than language can speak ! 

Scarce a blessing remains but is darkened or faded ; 

Scarce a friend of my youth but is dead or estranged ; 
Not a vision of hope my fond fancy had braided, 

But some bliss-blighting chance hath destroyed or de- 
ranged ; — 
Not a promise of joy, but some sorrow has shaded ; 

Not a dear one is left, save in spirit, unchanged. 

Wealth and honours are mine : but can riches secure me 
The sinless enjoyments of days that are flown. 

Can the phantom of Fame that from home could allure me, 
For the blessings I've bartered to gain it atone ? 

Fatal gifts, in my anguish of soul I abjure ye ; 

All that sweetened and brightened existence is gone ! 



THE POET'S HOME. 



"Thus in this calm retreat so richly fraugln 
With mental liglit and luxury of thought. 
His life steals on." 

Rogers. 

'Tis the "leafy month of June," 
And the faintly glimmering moon. 
In the East her cresset rearing. 
Shows that summer's eve is wearing ; 
But the sun is lingerino; still 
O'er the old accustomed hill ; 



60 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Twilight's shadows hovering 'round him, 
Like a king, when foes surround him, 
Gathering, since he scorns to fly, 
Life's last energies to die ! 
See, the parting god of day 
Leaves a trail upon his way. 
Like the memory of the dead 
When the sainted soul hath fled ; 
And it chequers all the skies 
With its bright, innumerous dyes ! 

Not a sound disturbs the hush. 
Save the silver streamlet's gush. 
As it leaps, with many a bound, 
From the depth of shades profound ; 
Now through tangled brushwood straying. 
Now o'er velvet moss delaying. 
But, while seeming most to stay. 
Gliding fast as bliss away : 
Cooling zephyrs bathe the brow. 
With delicious fragrance now ; 
Incense sweet from many a bower, 
Odours from each closing flower. 
Breathed from yon sequestered vale. 
O'er the charmed sense prevail, 
Till the pulse forgets to move. 
And the heart is drunk with love ! 

Where yon wide clematis flings 
Far and wide its starry rings. 
Where the graceful jasmine's braid 
Makes a green, eye-soothing shade, 



THE poet's HOME. 61 

And their shoots united rove 

High the trellised jjorch above, 

Deep embowered from vulgar ken, 

Seek we now a Poet's Den ! 

Knock ; no pampered menial there. 

Rising from his cushioned chair, 

AV^ith a supercilious eye, 

Will measure your gentility ; 

And, if strange to rank and state, 

Entrance bar, or bid you wait ; 

Eor the gentlest tap may win 

Him you seek to let you in, 

If for gentle deeds your name 

Homage of his heart may claim : 

Though Ambition's gorgeous train. 

Welcome there may seek in vain ; 

And full-blown Pride, whate'er her store. 

There, never finds an open door ; 

Though Fortune seldom roams that way. 

And ne'er can be beguiled to stay, 

And Wisdom, and her sister Reason, 

Are visiters but once a season ; 

Yet Genius, with his laurel crown. 

Not seldom quits the madding town, 

Sick of its tumult, dust, and glare. 

To breathe a little country air ; 

And there, with Taste his guide, alights 

To set his rufiled wings to rights ; — 

Content, until he soars anew. 

There to find "audience meet though few." 

Yes, it is sweet, from care and toil. 
The busy Babel's wild turmoil, 
16 



G2 LYEICSOFTHEHEART. 

The hollow and obstreperous crowd, 

Its lo Pieans long and loud, 

Its worthless idols, worshipped, till 

Deposed by idols baser still, — 

To steal away, and taste the bliss 

Of quiet, in a nook like this ! 

With all that can to earth endear one, 

And only kindred spirits near one ; 

All that to life enjoyment lends. 

Books, leisure, health, and cherished friends 

"With nothing in the world to do. 

But range yon ample garden through, 

Or loiter in the chequered shade. 

By these wide-spreading branches made ; 

Suspend the dripping oar, and dream. 

Hour after hour, on yonder stream. 

That winds its flowery meads among. 

Radiant as Hope, when Hope was young, 

With all the rainbow colours rife 

That sometimes make a heaven of life. 

But bend your head, and pass between 

Yon climbing jasmine's tendrils green ; 

Put thoughts of grandeur and of pride. 

With its intrusive boughs aside, 

And, each sublimer fancy quelling. 

Enter a Poet's humble dwelling ; 

Nor start, if 'neath that roof you find 

Some tokens of his heart and mind ! 

Bright confusion revels there, 
And seldom had a realm more fair : 
'Tis a wilderness of mind. 
Redolent of tastes refined ; 



THE poet's HOME. 63 

Tomes of wild, romantic lore, 

Culled from Fancy's richest store ; 

(Caskets full of gems sublime 

From the teeming sea of Time ;) 

Poets, Fame herself hath crowned, 

People all the walls around : 

Homer's Tale of Troy divine ; 

Rough old Chaucer's racy line ; 

Sweetest Spenser's honied rhymes ; 

Shakspere's "mirror for all times ;" 

Stately Milton's lofty hymn 

Of embattled Seraphim ; 

Dryden's flood, that sweeps along 

Like a river broad and strong ; 

Polished Pope's melodious wit, 

As summer lightning keen and bright ; 

Records of " sweet Auburn's" fate. 

Her primal bliss and ruined state. 

That 'round her blighted bowers have thrown 

A halo courts have never known, 

And made her name the cherished theme, 

Of many an exiled wanderer's dream ; 

Pensive Collins' silvery lay ; 

Thoughts that breathe of forceful Gray ;~ 

Ayr's proud peasant's words of flame, 

(Scotland's glory and her shame !) 

He who sang the fireside bright. 

Of the cotter's Avinter night. 

And the suppliant group that raise 

To heaven their notes of prayer and praise, 

With that deep and fervent zeal. 

Lowly hearts alone can feel. 



64 LYRICSOPTHEHEART. 

Mystic fragments strew tlie ground, 
Like the oracles profound 
Of the Delphic prophetess, 
And as difficult to guess ! 
Crystal vases filled with flowers 
Fresh from evening's dewy bowers ; 
Knots of ribbon, locks of hair, 
Love-gifts from his lady fair ; 
Violets, blue as are the eyes 
That awake his softest sighs. 
And reward his love-sick lays 
With their smiles of more than praise ; 
Here, a broken, stringless lute ; 
There, a masquer's antic suit ; 
Fencing foils, a Moorish brand, 
Trophies strange from many a land. 
Memory's lights to many a scene 
Where his roving steps have been : 
Armour bright of one who bore 
Chivalry's tried lance of yore ; 
Breast-plate rich, and shield of price. 
Veined with many a quaint device, 
Sword of proof, and maildd glove, 
With the crested helm above ; 
And many a pictured form of grace. 
Many a sweet but pensive face, 
Stamped in Beauty's richest bloom, 
Sheds its halo through the room ; 
Like the smile of primal Light, 
Making even Chaos bright ! 
Baffaelle's more than mortal grace ; 
Guide's sad, imploring face ; 




cJn(^ 



THE poet's HOME. 65 

Dolce's Man of many woes ; 

Claude's surpassing bright Repose ; 

Stothard's woodland groups, that seem 

Emanations of a dream ; 

Such as sweetest Una, when 

" Compassed 'round by savage men;" 

Or the "Lady" pure as fair, 

Who left unharmed the "enchanted Chair;" 

Howard's elfin forms that rise 

With the rainbow to the skies. 

In the "plighted clouds that play" 

Through the livelong summer day ; 

Or with fair Sabrina, come 

From her coral palace home, 

'Neath the "cool, translucent wave," 

Innocence from guile to save ; 

Or with printless, flying feet. 

When, by moonlight, fairies meet, 

Tripping o'er the ribbed sea-sand 

At the elfin queen's command, 

As the swift waves ebb and flow, 

Dancing, glancing, to and fro. 

Mark those infant twins that kneel, 
Side by side, in joint appeal 
To their Father, throned on high. 
And with song would glorify 
His exceeding Grace, that they 
Have been spared another day ! 
Who can look on them, nor deem 
Heaven the fittest home for them ! 
Purest of created things. 
Wanting only angel-wings, 

17 



66 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

To put off earth's coil and rise 
Into worlds beyond the skies, 
Hallelujahs there to sing 
Worthy Heaven's eternal King ! 
Hark ! the Saviour seems to say, 
Suffer, nor forbid that they 
Come where I have led the way ! 
Peril, not their lasting bliss. 
For of such my kingdom is ! 
Oh ! if innocence so young, 
Heart unschooled and simple tongue, 
To the bliss may thus attain 
Which so many seek in vain ; 
What, with all their learned lore, 
Can earth's wise ones hope for more ! 

Lo ! where yon uplifted eyes 
Seem to commune with the skies, 
And rebuke all human passion 
With their silent adoration ; 
Penitential tears revealing 
All the bruised heart is feeling ! 
Not in vain that heart is riven, 
She repents, and is forgiven ! 
See that Virgin Mother mild, 
Bending o'er her radiant child, 
With affection so intense 
It absorbs each other sense ; 
And, half unmindful of his birth. 
She loves him like a thing of earth ; 
Till the light around him streaming, 
Straight dispels her low-born dreaming ! 
Would you learn to suffer ? Bow 
To yon thorn-encircled brow ! 



THE poet's HOME. 67 

Can earth's common griefs compare 

With the woe depicted there ; 

Or its keenest tortures vie 

With that mortal agony ? 

Bow the head, and bend the knee, 

Such the anguish borne for thee ! 

Look upon that sunset ocean. 

With its undulating motion, 

'Neath the flood of radiance glowing, 

And with scarce a murmur flowing : 

Not a ripple but grows bright, 

In its own peculiar light ; 

Not a tree or ruin hoary, 

But puts on its garb of glory ; 

Not a ship or headland bold. 

But is steeped in burnished gold I 

Look ! A garden, trim and fair, 
Exuding on the pearly air. 
Subtle odours that dispense 
Vigour to each drooping sense. 
And can bid the soul uprise 
Like the lark into the skies ! 
There, no dreadful Dragon keeps 
Watch and ward, and never sleeps ; 
Nor are yon luxuriant trees. 
Guarded by the Hesperides : 
But a band, perchance as fair. 
Pleasure-bound, are loitering there, 
Plucking now a flower, or fruit. 
Training now some vagrant shoot ; 
Here o'er dew-charged roses bending, 
There a broken lily, tending ; 



68 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And, on tip-toe, striving now 
To bring down the richest bough ; 
Which, as old-world sages teach, 
Always grows beyond the reach. 

Look again ! A woodland scene, 
And 'neath its umbrageous screen, 
Where the sun's leaf-mellowed light 
Falls attempered on the sight, 
Like wind-troubled flowers that bend 
Wheresoe'er the breeze may tend. 
Swaying here, or stooping there. 
To each impulse of the air. 
Gay and graceful forms advance. 
Mingling in the mazy dance ! 
All as light of heart as though 
Death could never lay them low ! 

By the open lattice sitting, 
Fevered dreams of beauty flitting 
O'er his heart and o'er his brain, 
In one bright, unbroken chain ; 
Drinking deep, through every sense. 
Draughts of pleasure too intense ; 
Mark the Poet's glistening eye, 
Wandering now o'er earth and sky ! 
'Tis a blissful hour to him, 
Slave of feeling, child of whim. 
Builder of the lofty rhyme. 
Bard, Musician, Painter, Mime ; 
Ever swayed by impulse strong. 
Each by turns, but nothing long ! 
Still in search of idle toys. 
Pining after fancied joys ; 



THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. 69 

All that charmed his heart and eye, 
Sought — possessed — and then thrown by ! 
Doomed on shadows thus to brood, 
Whilst life's more substantial good, 
All that wiser bosoms prize, 
Fades like day from yonder skies. 



THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. 

"Fare thee well, thou first and fairest!" 

Burns. 

My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my eyes 
When first I clasped thee to my heart, and heard thy feeble 

cries ; — 
For I thought of all that I had borne, as I bent me down to 

kiss 
Thy cherry lips, and sunny brow, my first-born bud of bliss ! 

I turned to many a withered hope, to years of grief and pain. 
And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flashed o'er my boding 

brain ; — 
I thought of friends, grown worse than cold, of persecuting 

foes. 
And I asked of Heaven if ills like these must mar thy youth's 

repose ! 

I gazed upon thy quiet face, half blinded by my tears, — 
Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my 

fears ; — 
Sweet rays of hope that fairer shone 'mid the clouds of gloom 

that bound them. 
As stars dart down their loveliest light when midnight skies 

are 'round them. 

18 



70 LYRICSOFTHEHEART. 

My sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is o'er, 
And a father's anxious fears for thee can fever me no more ! 
And for the hopes, the sun-bright hopes, that blossomed at 

thy birth, — 
They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherished things of 

earth ! 

'Tis true that thou wert young, my child, but though brief 

thy span below, 
To me it was a little age of agony and woe ; 
For, from thy first faint dawn of life thy cheek began to fade. 
And my lips had scarce thy welcome breathed, ere my hopes 

were wrapt in shade. 

Oh, the child in its hours of health and bloom that is dear as 

thou wert then. 
Grows far more prized, more fondly loved, in sickness and in 

pain. 
And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every hope 

was lost. 
Ten times more precious to my soul, for all that thou hadst 

cost ! 

Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watched thee, day by 

day, 
Pale like the second bow of Heaven, as gently waste away ; 
And, sick with dark foreboding fears, we dared not breathe 

aloud. 
Sat, hand in hand, in speechless grief, to wait death's coming 

cloud ! 

It came at length ; — o'er thy bright blue eye the film was 

gathering fast, — 
And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow, the deepest and the 

last ; 



THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. 71 

In thicker gushes strove thy breath, — we raised thy drooping 

head ; — 
A moment more — the final pang — and thou wert of the dead ! 

Thy gentle mother turned away to hide her face from me, 
And murmured low of Heaven's behests, and bliss attained by 

thee ; — 
She would have chid me that I mourned a doom so blest as 

thine. 
Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild as 

mine ! 

We laid thee down in thy sinless rest, and from thine infant 

brow 
Culled one soft lock of radiant hair, our only solace now ; 
Then placed around thy beauteous corse, flowers, not more 

fair and sweet, — 
Twin rosebuds in thy little hands, and jasmine at thy feet. 

Though other ofi'spring still be ours, as fair perchance as thou, 
With all the beauty of thy cheek, the sunshine of thy brow, — 
They never can replace the bud our early fondness nursed ; 
They may be lovely and beloved, but not, like thee, the first ! 

The FIRST ! How many a memory bright that one sweet word 

can bring, 
Of hopes that blossomed, drooped, and died, in life's delightful 

spring ;— 
Of fervid feelings passed away — those early seeds of bliss 
That germinate in hearts unsered by such a world as this ! 

My sweet one, my sweet one, my fairest and my First ! 
When I think of what thou mightst have been, my heart is 
like to burst ; 



72 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

But gleams of gladness through my gloom their soothing 

radiance dart, 
And my sighs are hushed, my tears are dried, when I turn to 

what thou art ! 

Pure as the snoAV-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth, 
With not a taint of mortal life except thy mortal birth, 
God bade thee early taste the spring for which so many thirst, 
And bliss, eternal bliss, is thine, my Fairest and my First ! 



THE WHARFE REVISITED. 

Yet once again, bright river, once again, 

I come to tread thy wild and winding shore ! 

What blissful moments, and what hours of pain, 

Hath my soul numbered, since the Muses' lore 

Last on thy banks I conned. But not in vain 

Hath life for me its chequered page unrolled 

Of varied grief and joy ; I now behold 

Its shifting scenes, and Iris-tinted train. 

With calmer eye and less impassioned heart : 

True, I have seen full many a hope decay. 

And cherished visions like thy waves depart ; 

Yet other dreams, as fair perchance as they, 

Unto my world-worn spirit have been given. 

Filled, like thy radiant face, with hues of light from heaven ! 



WE PLIGHTED VOWS TOGETHER. 73 



WE PLIGHTED VOWS TOGETHER. 

We plighted vows together, 

When all Nature 'round looked gay, 
In the bright and genial weather. 

Of the merry month of May ; 
When the buds had opened into flower, 

The cuckoo taken wing, 
To herald, with her voice of power. 

To other lands the Spring ! 

We plighted vows together. 

When earth wore her richest green. 
On the birch-tree's silvery feather 

When a deeper shade was seen ; 
The laburnum, spendthrift of our bower, 

Its gold had dropped around ; 
And the hawthorn blossom's snowy shower 

Was whitening all the ground ! 

When we plighted vows together, 

May was melting into June, 
And the smiles of that bright weather 

Taught the brook a lower tune ; 
Whose music, though it soothed mine ear, 

And bade my soul rejoice, 
Was not so silver-sweet and clear 

As the heart-tones of thy voice ! 

19 



74 LYRICSOFTHEHEART. 

When we plighted vows together, 

Scarce a sound beside was heard, 
Through the far and cloudless ether, 

Save the carol of a bird ; 
Or the honey-bee's glad humming, 

As she bore her sweets away ; 
For she knew 'twas summer coming, 

And like all the world was gay ! 

When we plighted vows together. 

No sad future met our ken, 
For we thought that sunny weather 

Would always smile as then ; 
And, that if May gave way to June, 

Those laughing skies would last : 
Alas ! how darkly, and how soon. 

Our heaven was overcast ! 

Since we plighted vows together, 

In the merry month of May, 
Oh, how stormy wild the weather 

That has crossed our onward way ! 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, all are gone. 

With their chequered gloom and glow ; 
Yet, far off the goal in fancy won 

So many years ago ! 

The faith we pledged together 
Has known nor chill nor change. 

And wedlock's silken tether 
Has brought no wish to range ; 

For our hearts are Avarm as when of old. 
Love's trysting bower within. 



THE SLEEPING CUPID OF GUIDO. 75 

Our guileless passion to unfold, 
We never deemed a sin ! 

Since we trod life's path together, 

What wild changes have we known ; 
Hopes, that blossomed but to wither, 

Joys, unheeded, all, till flown ! 
But can Winter freeze Love's genial spring. 

In hearts like ours that flows ? 
No ; let him come, so he but bring 

His wisdom with his snows ! 



THE SLEEPING CUPID OF GUIDO. 

A SKETCH FROM THE WELL-KNOWN PICTUKE IN THE GALLERY OF 
EARL FITZWILLIAM. 

I. 

'TiS summer's softest eve ; the winds are laid. 
The jarring sounds of day-life are at rest, 
And all is calm and soothing ; not a shade 
Mars the blue beauty of the skies : the west, 
Gathering its hues of splendour from the crest 
Of yonder setting sun, is changing fast 
From sapphire to bright gold ; old ocean's breast 
Is one broad plain without a cloud o'ercast ; 
'Tis day's divinest hour, its loveliest, and its last. 

II. 
Tired of his sport, the wreck of human hearts, 
There on his mother's couch in slumber bound, 



76 LYRICSOFTHEHEART. 

The God of Love reclines ; — Ms idle darts, 
Those ministers of woe, lie scattered 'round : 
But that he guards, amid his dreams profound. 
With so much jealous care, his unstrung how. 
How might we now his vaunted strength confound ; 
From his own quiver pay the deht we owe, 
And, with one keen, bright shaft, pierce our unconscious foe I 

III. 

But who would wound a breast so passing fair ! 
Look ! in immortal beauty where he lies : 
His flushed cheek pillowed on his hand ; his hair 
Clustering, like sun-touched clouds in summer skies, 
Around his glorious brow ; — his twice-sealed eyes 
With silken-fringed lids, like flowers that close 
Their dewy cups at eve ; — and lips whose dyes 
Rival the crimson of the damask rose. 
Wreathed with a thousand charms, all sweetness and repose. 

IV. 

Hush ! for a footfall may disturb his sleep ; 
Hush even your breathing, for a breath may break 
His visioned trance ! But no, 'tis deep, most deep ; 
The last low sigh of evening fans his cheek, 
And stirs his golden curls ; the last bright streak 
Of parting day is fading from the west ; 
Dim clouds are gathering round yon mountain's peak, 
Yet still he sleeps ; and his soft-heaving breast, 
Bright wings, brow, lips, and eyes, are redolent of rest. 

V. 

Love, young Love, how beautiful thou art ! 
The brightest dream that ever poet feigned 



THE FISHERMANS HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 

May scarce compare with thee ! What though thy dart 
The blood of many a gentle breast hath stained ; 
What though thy godlike powers thou hast profaned, 
And proved to some an evil deity ; 
Yet, in thy softer moods, hast thou sustained 
Full many a sinking heart, and thoughts of thee 
Have often stilled the waves of this life's stormy sea ! 

VI. 
Thou art, indeed, omnipotent — divine ! 
And the wide world is vocal with thy name : 
Princes and peasants bow before thy shrine ; 
Whilst gentle Woman, in all lands the same. 
For good or evil, oftenest swells thy fame ! 
Noble and serf, the despot and the slave, 
(For even the slave, if Love his homage claim. 
May wear a double chain), thy shafts must brave. 
And own thy mighty powel' to ruin or to save ! 



THE FISHERMAN'S HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 

When the lightnings flash on high. 
And deep thunders rend the sky ; 
When the frantic hurricane 
Makes all human efforts vain ; 
When the mighty ship is driven. 
Tempest-tossed, from earth to heaven, 
And, reeling then beneath the blow, 
Dives deep to ocean-caves below ; 

20 



78 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Thou the Fisher's bark canst guide 
Safely o'er the raging tide ! 
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, 
All glory now and ever be ! 

Ships with all their bravery on 
Have in stormless seas gone down ; 
Some 'neath War's torpedo shocks, 
Others, pierced by hidden rocks. 
Have their timbers opened wide 
To the calm but treacherous tide ; 
One, in port that rode supine. 
Disappeared, and made no sign ; 
Whilst the Fisher's bark will ride 
Safely o'er the fitful tide : 
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, 
All glory now and ever be ! 

For His blessed sake, who chose, 
As his prime disciples, those 
Who upon the mighty deep 
Once the Fisher's watch would keep, 
But became, with purer ken. 
Fishers of their fellow-men ; — 
Bade them be of steadfast cheer. 
And nor blast nor billow fear ; 
Holiest Mother, Virgin fair, 
Make my fragile bark thy care : 
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, 
All glory now and ever be ! 

For His blessed sake, whose will 
Winds and waves at once could still, 



THE bachelor's DILEMMA. 79 

And the labouring bark transport 
Straightway to her destined port ; 
To her trembling crew, who said, 
"It is I, be not afraid ;" 
And when Peter trod the wave, 
Stretched his gracious hand to save ; 
Holiest Mother, Virgin fair, 
Make this little bark thy care ! 
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, 
All glory now and ever be ! 

For His sake who fishers three 
Up the Mountain led, that He 
Might unto their favoured eyes 
Prove His mission from the skies ; 
And in raiment, dazzling white, 
Stood before their wondering sight, 
Bidding them reveal to men 
What no eye had marked till then ; 
Holiest Mother, Virgin fair, 
Make the Fisher's bark thy care ! 
Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, 
All glory now and ever be ! 



THE BACHELOR'S DILEMMA. 

By all the sweet saints in the Missal of Love, 
They are both so intensely, bewitchingly fair. 

That, let Folly look solemn, and Wisdom reprove, 

I can't make up my mind which to choose of the pair. 



80 LYRICSOFTHEHEART. 

There is Fanny, whose eye is as blue and as bright 
As the depths of spring skies in their noontide array ; 

Whose every soft feature is gleaming in light, 
Like the ripple of waves on a sunshiny day : 

Whose form, like the willow, so slender and lithe, 
Has a thousand wild motions of lightness and grace ; 

Whose innocent heart, ever buoyant and blithe. 

Is the home of the sweetness that breathes from her face. 

There is Helen, more stately of gesture and mien. 
Whose beauty a world of dark ringlets enshrouds ; 

With the black, regal eye, and the step of a queen, 

And a brow like the moon breaking forth from the clouds 

With a bosom whose chords are so tenderly strung, 
That a word, nay a look, will awaken its sighs ; 

With a face, like the heart-searching tones of her tongue, ' 
Eull of music that charms both the simple and wise. 

In my moments of mirth, amid glitter and glee, 

When my soul takes the hue that is brightest of any, 

From her sister's enchantment my spirit is free, 
And the bumper I quaff is a bumper to Fanny ! 

But, when shadows come o'er me of sickness or grief, 
And my heart with a host of wild fancies is swelling, 

From the blaze of her brightness I turn for relief 

To the pensive and peace-breathing beauty of Helen ! 

"And when sorrow and joy are so blended together, 
That to weep I'm unwilling, to smile am as loth ; 

When the beam may be kicked by the weight of a feather ; 
I would fain keep it even — by wedding them both ! 



KING Pedro's revenge. 81 

But since I must fix on black eyes or blue, 

Quickly make up my mind 'twixt a Grace and a Muse ; 

Pr'ythee Venus, instruct me that course to pursue 

Which even Paris himself had been puzzled to choose !" 

Thus murmured a Bard, — predetermined to marry ; 

But so equally charmed by a Muse and a Grace, 
That though one of his suits might be doomed to miscarry. 

He'd another he straight could prefer in its place. 

So, trusting that "Fortune would favour the brave," 
He asked each in her turn, but they both said him nay ; 

Lively Fanny declared he was somewhat too grave. 
And Saint Helen pronounced him a little too gay ! 



KING PEDRO'S REVENGE. 

The following verses are founded on a striking passage in the life of Pedro 
I. of Portugal, the husband of the fair, but ill-starred Ine\ de Castro. One of 
the first acts of Don Pedro, after his accession to the throne of Portugal, was to 
compel the King of Castile to deliver over to his vengeance the murderers of 
his wife, who, on the death of his father, Alfonso, had fled to the Spanish court 
for protection. On the day on which the prisoners, with their escort, were ex- 
pected at Santarem, the King commanded a stupendous funeral pile to be 
erected upon the plain without the city, and a splendid banquet to be spread 
beside it. On the arrival of the cavalcade from Castile, the pyre was kindled, 
and, after addressing to the murderers a few words of eloquent invective, in 
reply to their earnest supplications for mercy, he directed them to be cast into 
the flames; whilst he and his assembled nobles sat down to the magnificent 
banquet that had been prepared for them. In the royal mausoleum of the 
monastery of Alcoba^a are the tombs of Pedro and Inez. The sarcophagus of 
the King is surmounted by a recumbent effigy, which represents him with a 
severe countenance, in the act of drawing his sword. 

21 



82 LYRICS OFTHE HEART. 

On Santardm's far-spreading plain, 

There's a rush of helm and spear, 
And the sudden burst of a warlike strain 

Comes dancing on the ear ! — 
And the banners wave, and the trumpets wail. 

And the silver cymbals clash ; 
And sounds are on the fitful gale 

Like a stormy ocean's dash ! 

A murmur rises from the crowd 

That girds King Pedro's throne. 
Like the thunder peal that from cloud to cloud, 

In its gathering might, rolls on : 
And the shout that cleaves the noontide sky, 

To a wilder shout gives birth ; 
That swells, like an army's battle-cry. 

Till it shakes the solid earth. 

T^is the fierce, triumphant voice of hate ; 

Of blood the eager call ; 
'Tis the tiger's yell for his slaughtered mate, 

Ere he springs to avenge her fall ! 
And ten thousand hearts exult as one. 

When that welcome band draws near ; 
And their cry, like the knell of mercy flown. 

Still rings on the doomed ear ! 

What precious ofiering do they bring. 

To feed a monarch's pride ? — 
A gift more grateful to their king 

Than aught in the world beside ! 
Nor gems, nor gold, rich stores of art. 

Barbaric spoils of war, — 
But a treasure to his panting heart 

More prized — more precious far ! 



KING PEDRO S REVENGE. 

The murderers of the martyred Bride 

Who should have shared his crown ; 
The felon slaves that had defied 

So long his iron frown ; — 
Are given to his red hand at last, — 

Stand fettered in his sight ; 
And his kindling glance is on them cast, 

With a fierce and grim delight. 

" Demons ! Nay, bend no fawning knee. 

Your doom is fixed, your sentence said ; 
And such mercy shall ye wring from me 

As ye vouchsafed the sinless dead ! 
There's blood upon your dastard brands 

That blood can only clear again ; 
There's guilt on those remorseless hands, 

And fire, perchance, may cleanse the stain ! 

" Call me not cruel : — ye who turned 

Your swords against a woman's breast ; 
Her pleading tears and beauty spurned. 

And made her dying pangs your jest ; 
Call me not harsh, that thus I wreak 

Late vengeance on your craven clay: 
Help from a mightier Monarch seek ; — 

For mercy here 'twere vain to pray ! 

" Sweet Inez ! by thy guiltless blood, 

Unheeded wail, and fruitless tears ; 
By the love, even death hath not subdued ; 

By the calm delights of our early years ; 
By my widowed couch and withered heart ; 

By my broken hopes and burning brain ; 
By the feeling, now of my life a part ; 

By the vow, I never breathed in vain ; — 



84 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

" My vengeance shall not sleep ; and they 

Who deem thine earthly reign is o'er, 
. Shall yet to thee their homage pay, 

With awe they never felt before : — 
Shall see thee sitting by my side. 

Uprisen from thy dreamless rest ; 
The sharer of my 'place of pride,' — 

A queen, a saint by all confessed ! 

" But hark ! the signal trumpet's peal : 

The pile is laid, the banquet spread : 
Why gleams so many a glittering steel 

Above each craven traitor's head ? 
Put up your thirsting swords ; 'twere vain 

To give yon pyre a lifeless prey ; — 
I'll not abate a single pain 

To guilt like theirs ; — away ! away !" 

'Mid Alcobaca's storied gloom. 

Two sculptured effigies recline ; 
A woman's one, in youth's first bloom ; 

A queen — a saint by many a sign ! 
There's a crown upon her placid brow, 

And a regal robe around her thrown ; 
And charms that bid the gazer bow, 

Are breathing from that simple stone. 

And a warrior king is sleeping near. 

With his sceptre by his side ; 
With a knitted brow and a look severe. 

And a lip of scorn and pride ! 
His hand hath half unsheathed his sword. 

As if some mortal foe defied ; 
He breathes some wild, revengeful word ;- 

'Twas thus King Pedro died ! 



GUARD AGAINST A RAINY DAY. 85 



GUARD AGAINST A RAINY DAY, 

Guard against a rainy day ; — 

Though the skies be now so fair, 
Yet a little while and they 

May a gloomier aspect wear : 
Fortune, too, so smiling now, 

Seeming all thy hopes to crown, 
Soon may show an altered brow, 

And assume an angry frown ! 

Guard against a rainy day ; — 

What though life were always Spring ; 
Even a smiling morn of May 

Unexpected showers may bring : 
Friendship, though so warm of old, 

Will not bear an adverse sky ; 
Even Love, for lack of gold. 

May unfold his wings and fly ! 

Gold our master, and our slave, 

Can both dictate and obey : 
What is there on earth we crave, 

That will not confess its sway ? 
Honour, friendship, love, and fame, 

Title, power, and men's respect. 
He who highest bids may claim, 

If he be but circumspect. 



LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Call not gold then worthless dross, 

That can purchase wealth like this ; 
And lend virtue's self a gloss, 

Fools might else be fain to miss. 
Jewels, to the vulgar ken, 

Though they be of price untold, 
Are but duly valued, when 

They are set in frames of gold. 

Prophecies of future sorrow, 

Who may venture to gainsay ? 
Clouds may break in floods to-morrow. 

Gather honey whilst you may : 
Nor forget to lay up store. 

Where it ne'er can know decay ; 
Spring and summer soon are o'er, 

Guard against a wintry day ! 



HYMN OF TRIUMPH OVER BABYLON. 

How hath the fierce oppressor fall'n, 

The Golden City ceased ; 
The sceptre of his power been broke, 

The trampled heart released ! 
The staff the wicked loves to wield. 

That long hath ruled the land, 
At length, by an almighty blow. 

Is shivered in his hand ! 

And he who, in his wanton wrath. 
In heaven's and man's despite. 



HYMN OF TRIUMPH OVER BABYLON. 87 

His people, with continual stroke, 

For ever joyed to smite ; 
Who ruled them, in his anger stern. 

With terror's iron rod, 
Now lies all prostrate 'neath the arm 

Of an avenging God ! 

And the whole Earth rejoiceth, 

At length, to be at rest ; 
The halcyon Peace, long scared away, 

Once more becomes her guest ; 
And, in the fulness of their hearts, 

In their deliverance strong, 
The gladness of all living things 

Is breaking forth in song ! 

Ay, even to her inmost heart. 

Creation owns the spell ; 
The fir-trees bow rejoicingly 

That none come up to fell ; 
The cedars dark of Lebanon 

At length have found a voice. 
And seem, through all their spreading boughs, 

To murmur forth " rejoice !" 

Hell from beneath is moved for thee. 

To bid thee welcome there. 
And stirreth up the dead once more 

To gaze on thy despair ; 
The chief ones of the nation's choice. 

The mighty kings of earth, 
Are lifted up from their dread thrones 

To mock thee with their mirth I 



LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And they shall speak to thee and say, 

With cold, derisive smile, 
The pointed finger of their scorn. 

Slow-moving all the while ; 
Art thou, stupendous in thy guilt, 

Thus weak and powerless grown ? 
Where is the sceptre of thy rule. 

And where thy vaunted throne ? 

Thy pomp is brought down to the grave ; 

Voices that hymned thy fame. 
Have died into an echo. 

Or but breathe another's name ; — 
Thy festal banquets all are o'er. 

And o'er thy prostrate form, 
Insatiate Death hath spread his board, 

The reveller the Avorm ! 

Son of the Morning, Lucifer! 

How hast thou ceased from heaven ; 
A star so bright, at dawn of day. 

To be extinct at even ! 
Thou, who didst strive, with impious pride, 

God's throne above to climb. 
From that empyrean height to fall. 

With ruin more sublime ! 

Oh, who can look upon thee now. 

Nor ask is this the man 
Who made the mightiest kingdoms quake. 

The trembling earth grow wan ; 
Who o'er her splendid cities passed 

Like a consuming flame, 



HYMN OF TRIUMPH OVER BABYLON. 89 

And of their primal grandeur left 
No record but a name ! 

Tlie kings of all the nations 

In their tombs of glory lie, 
Whilst thou art from thy grave cast out, 

The scorn of every eye ; 
Despised, abandoned of the world, 

The passer-by to greet, 
Like the corse of one untimely slain, 

And trodden under feet ! 

Thou shalt not share their burial-place, 

Nor join in their renown. 
Because thou hast destroyed the land, 

And struck thy people down : 
For this iniquity a curse 

Shall to thy children cling. 
Ear sharper than the serpent's tooth, 

Or Death's envenomed sting ! 

The seed of evil-doers 

Shall ne'er possess the land ; 
Nor fill the world with cities. 

But shall drop away like sand ; 
Never again to reunite. 

In strength to be as one ; 
The name, the remnant, and the race, 

Forgot like Babylon ! 



22 



90 LYRICSOFTHEHEART. 



ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS. 

" And slight withal may be the things that bring 
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
Aside for ever." 

Byron. 

Relics of love, and life's enchanted spring, 

Of hopes, horn rainhow-like of smiles and tears, 

With trembling hand do I unloose the string 

Twined 'round the records of my youthful years. 

Yet why preserve memorials of a dream 

Too hitter-sweet to breathe of aught but pain ; 

Why court fond memory for a fitful gleam 
Of faded bliss, that cannot bloom again ! 

The thoughts and feelings these sad relics bring 
Back on my heart, I would not now recall : 

Since holier ties around its pulses cling. 

Shall spells less hallowed hold them still in thrall ! 

Can withered hopes that never came to flower. 
Match with aJBFections long and dearly tried ; 

Love, that has lived through many a stormy hour. 
Through good and ill, and time and change defied ! 

Perish each record that might wake a thought 
That would be treason to a faith like this ! 

Why should the spectres of past joys be brought 
To fling their shadows o'er my present bliss ! 



ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS. 91 

Yet, ere we part for ever, let me pay 

A last, fond tribute to the sainted dead ; 
Mourn o'er these wrecks of passion's earlier day, 

With tears as wild as once I used to shed. 

What gentle words are flashing on my eye ! 

What tender truths in every line I trace ! 
Confessions, penned with many a deep-drawn sigh ; 

Hopes, like the Dove, with but one resting-place. 

How many a feeling, long, too long, represt. 
Like autumn flowers, here opened out at last ; 

How many a vision of the lonely breast, 

Its cherished radiance on these leaves hath cast ! 

And ye, pale violets, whose sweet breath hath driven 
Back on my soul the dreams I fain would quell ; 

-To whose faint perfume such wild power is given. 
To call up visions only loved too well ; — 

Ye too must perish : — wherefore now divide 
Tributes of love — first offerings of the heart ! 

Gifts, that so long have slumbered side by side ; 
Tokens of feeling, never meant to part ! 

A long farewell ; — sweet flowers, sad scrolls, adieu ! 

Yes, ye shall be companions to the last : 
So perish all that would revive anew 

The fruitless memories of the faded past ! 

"Tis done ; the flames are curling swiftly 'round 

Each fairer vestige of my youthful years ; 
Page after page that searching blaze hath found, 

Even while I strive to trace them through my tears : 



9^ LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

The Hindoo widow, in affection strong, 

Dies by her lord, and keeps her faith unbroken 

Thus perish all that to those wrecks belong, 
The living memory — with the lifeless token ! 



A PARAPHRASE. 

Yes, methinks that I could without weeping resign 

Both thy beautiful eyes, though so fondly they languish ; 

And thy lips, though they often have murmured to mine 
Affection's soft tones, I could lose, without anguish ! 

To be brief ; thou hast held so ungentle a sway 

O'er the heart that was given by love to thy keeping, 

That at length from thy chains it is stealing away, 

And methinks I may learn to lose all without weeping ! 



THE ^OLIAN HARP. 



'• Methinks it should have been impossible 
Not to love all things in a world like this, 
Where even the breezes and the common air 
Contain the power and spirit of harmony." 

Coleridge. 



Harp of the winds ! What music may compare 
With thy mild gush of melody ; or where 
'Mid this world's discords, may we hope to meet. 
Tones such as thine — so soothing and so sweet ! 



THE ^OLIAN HARP. I 

Harp of the winds ! When summer's zephyr wings 
Its airy flight across thy tremulous strings, 
As if enamoured of its breath, they move 
With soft, low murmurs ; — ^like the voice of love 
Ere passion deepens it^ or sorrow mars 
Its harmony with sighs. All worldly jars 
Confess thy soothing power, when strains like these 
From thy soft chords are borne upon the breeze ! 

But when a more pervading force compels 
Their sweetness into strength, and quickly swells 
Each tenderer tone to fulness, — what a strange 
And spirit-stirring sense that fitful change 
Wakes in my heart. Visions of days long past, — 
Hope, joy, pride, pain, and passion, with the blast 
Come rushing on my soul ; — till I believe 
Some strong enchantment, purposed to deceive. 
Hath fixed its spell upon me ; and I grieve 
I may not burst its bonds ! — Anon the gale 
Softly subsides, and whisperings low prevail 
Of inarticulate melody, that seem 
Not music but its shadow ; — what a dream 
Is to reality ; or as the swell, — 
Those who have felt alone have power to tell, — 
Of the full heart where love was late a guest, 
Ere it recovers from its sweet unrest. 
The charm is o'er ; each warring thought flits by, 
Exorcised by that simplest minstrelsy ; 
Each turbulent feeling owns its sweet control. 
And peace once more returns and settles on my soul ! 



94 LYKICSOFTHEHEART. 



EICHMOND HILL. 

'Sweet scene of Childhood's opening bloom, for sportive Youth to stray in, 
For Manhood to enjoy his strength, and Age to wear away in." 

WOKDSWORTH. 

Let poets rave of Arno's stream, 

And painters of the winding Rhine ; 
I will not ask a lovelier dream, 

A sweeter scene, fair Thames, than thine ; 
As, in a summer eve's decline, 

Thou glidest "at thine own sweet will," 
Reflecting from thy face divine. 

The flower-wreathed brow of Richmond Hill ! 

And, what though some may hold thee cheap. 

Because thy charms are all their own ; 
And, cold to thee, their praises keep 

For foreign bowers, and skies alone ; — 
And some may scarcely deign to own 

The beauties all may share at will ; 
I'll bow before thy woodland throne. 

And hymn thy praise, sweet Richmond Hill ! 

For Avhat the slave of passion spurns, 

But makes thee dearer far to me ; 
Then, whilst his sickly fancy turns 

To foreign climes, I'll worship thee ! 
The more, that thou to all art free ; 

That hearts unnumbered sweetly thrill, 
When by-gone hours of blameless glee 

Come blent with thoughts of Richmond Hill. 



RICHMOND HILL. 95 

The schoolboy seeks thy glowing crest, 

And launches thence his soaring kite, 
In all the motley colours drest 

His fancy deems of fair and bright ; 
And, like his heart, as gay and light. 

As wild, perverse, and volatile, — 
The fluttering plaything wings its flight. 

In curvets wild, o'er Richmond Hill. 

Young lovers, too, frequent the shades 

That gird thy verdant diadem ; 
There linger till the day-beam fades. 

And evening's soft and dewy gem. 
The star of love, hath risen for them : 

Then 'mid the silent rapturous thrill, — 
The gush of hearts 'twere vain to stem, — 

How bright a heaven is Richmond Hill ! 

And when the ardent hopes of youth. 

The tone of bliss subdued acquire. 
When the wild heart has " gained in truth. 

Far more than it has lost in fire;" 
The "happy pair" will here retire. 

On memories fond to feed at will ; 
To muse on themes that ne'er can tire, — 

Their trysting days on Richmond Hill. 

And even when age has strewn the brow 
With many a trace of time and care ; 

When summer's eve is bright as now, 
The world-worn man may here repair, 

And gaze on childhood's frolics fair, 
Its artless mirth and sports, until 



96 LYRICSOFTHEHEART. 

He lives again o'er joys that were, — 
O'er days long past, on Richmond Hill. 

Eden of many hearts, gay haunt 

Of youth, age, wealth, and poverty ! 
How doth the prisoned bosom pant 

For one sweet day, from drudgery free, 
To dedicate to bliss and thee ! 

Oh ! if 'tis brightest fame to fill 
Unnumbered hearts with ecstasy ; 

Such fame is thine, sweet Richmond Hill ! 

But lo ! the sun is sinking fast, 

Emblem how meet of man's decline, 
When, life's obstructing shadows past. 

His evening hour grows bright as thine ; 
And one mild gleam, Faith's glorious sign, 

Like yon bright bark that seems so still. 
Glides on the soul in light divine. 

And leads it far from Richmond Hill ! 



CONSOLATION. 

" U is but perishable stuff that moulders in the grave." 

SOUTHET. 

Look up, look up, and weep not so, thy darling is not dead. 
His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled bed ; 
His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of endless 

bloom ; 
It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the tomb. 



THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CIIICO. 97 

Then hush, oh ! hush the swelling sigh, and dry the idle tear ! 
Think of the home thy babe hath won, and joy that he is 
there ! 

When summer evening's golden hues are burning in the sky, 
And odorous gales from balmy bowers are breathing softly 

When earth is bright with sunset's beams, and flowers are 

blushing near, 
And grief, all chastened and subdued, is gathering to a tear ; 
How sweet 'twill be at such an hour, and 'mid a scene so fair, 
To lift thy glistening eyes to heaven, and feel that he is 

there ! 



THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO ; 

ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM THE ALHAMBRA, AFTER THE CONQUEST OF 
GRANADA BY FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. 

" It was a night of doleful lamentings within the walls of the Alhambra ; for 
the household of Boabdil were preparing to take a last farewell of that de- 
lightful abode. Before the dawn of day, a mournful cavalcade moved ob- 
scurely out of a postern gate of the palace, and departed through one of the 
most retired quarters of the city. It was composed of the family of the unfor- 
tunate Boabdil, who left thus privately that they might not be exposed to the 
eyes of scoffers or the exultation of the enemy. The mother of Boabdil, the 
Sultana Ayxa La Horra, rode on in silence, with dejected yet dignified de- 
meanour ; but his wife, Zorayma, indulged in loud lamentations as she gave a 
last look at the Alhambra. They were attended by a small band of veteran 
Moors, who were loyally attached to the fallen monarch, and who would have 
sold'their lives dearly in defence of his family. The sun had scarcely begun 
to shed his beams upon the snowy mountains which rise above Granada, when 
the Christian camp was in motion with a view to take possession of the city. 

23 



98 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

The signal of advance was a large silver cross, elevated on the Torre de la 
Vela, or great watch-tower, and sparkling in the sunbeams. The splendid 
cavalcade, composed of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, and their chief 
nobles and attendants, was met by the unhappy Boabdil on the banks of the 
Xenil, at a short distance from Granada. As he approached the King he 
would have dismounted in token of homage had not Ferdinand prevented him. 
He then offered to kiss the King's hand, but this sign of vassalage was declined. 
Queen Isabella refused also to receive this ceremonial of homage ; and to con- 
sole him under his adversity delivered to him his son, who had remained as a 
hostage ever since Boabdil's liberation from captivity. The Moorish monarch 
pressed his child to his bosom with tender emotion, and they seemed mutually 
endeared by their misfortunes. Having placed the keys of the city in the 
hands of the King, Boabdil continued his course towards the Alpuxarras, that 
he might avoid being a spectator of the entrance of the Christians into his 
capital. Having rejoined his family, they ascended an eminence, commanding 
the last view of Granada, where they paused to take a farewell gaze at their 
beloved city. The sunshine, so bright in that transparent climate, lighted up 
each tower and minaret, and rested gloriously on the crowning battlements of 
the Alhambra; whilst the Vega spread its enamelled bosom below, glistening 
with the silver windings of the Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with 
silent agony upon that delicious scene; but whilst they yet looked, a light cloud 
of smoke burst forth from the citadel ; and presently a peal of artillery, faintly 
heard, announced that the city was taken possession of. The heart of Boabdil, 
softened by misfortunes and overcharged by grief, could no longer contain it- 
self. 'Allah Akbar! God is great,' he would have sa:id; but the words of 
resignation died upon his lips, and he burst into a flood of tears. His mother, 
the intrepid Sultana Ayxa La Horra, was indignant at this weakness. ' You 
do well,' said she, ' to weep like a woman for what you failed to defend like a 
man.' An ineliectual attempt was made to console him, but his tears conti- 
nued to flow, and he turned from the scene, exclaiming, ' When did misfor- 
tunes ever equal mine !' From this circumstance the hill took the name of 
' El ultimo suspiro del Mora,' — the last sigh of the Moor. The unhappy Boabdil 
retired to the valley of Porchena, where a small but fertile territory had been 
allotted to him. The jealousy of Ferdinand, however, who felt hardly secure 
in his newly-conquered territories whilst there M'as one within their bounds 
who might revive pretensions to the throne, did not long permit him to remain 
in this retirement. A collusive arrangement between the Vizier of Boabdil 
and the King, by which the former was to receive 80,000 golden ducats for 
his territory, concluded without Boabdil's privity, drove him forth once rhore. 
Gathering together, therefore, the wreck of his property, he set out for a neigh- 
bouring port, where a vessel was waiting to convey him to Africa. He was 



THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO. 99 

there hospitably received by his relative, Muley Ahmed, king of Fez, and re- 
sided for many years on his territory. Thirty-four years after the conquest of 
Granada, he fell in an attempt to assist the King of Fez to quell a rebellion in 
his dominions; 'an instance,' says the chronicler, 'of the scornful caprice of 
Fortune, dying in defence of the kingdom of another, after wanting spirit to 
die in defence of his own.' The fate of Boabdil is said to have been revealed 
to him in a dream, to which it is presumed he alluded when, on deciding on 
the capitulation of Granada, he exclaimed, ' Too surely was it written in the 
Book of Fate that I should be unfortunate, and that my kingdom should expire 
under my rule.' The fall of his empire had, moreover, been prophesied by a 
dervise, who, penetrating to the foot of his throne some months before his 
downfall, exclaimed, ' Woe ! woe ! woe to Granada ! its hour of desolation ap- 
proaches! my spirit tells me that the end of our empire is at hand.' Nearly 
all the events of his life appear to have established his title to the soubriquet, 
El Zogoybi, the unfortunate, or unlucky. The last words that burst sponta- 
neously from the lips of the faithful few who witnessed his embarkation for 
Africa, were, 'Farewell, Boabdil! Allah preserve thee. El Zogoybi!'"— Ikving's 
" Chronicles of Granada." 

Adieu, proud palace of my sires ! 

Home of my luckless youth, adieu ! 
Still lingers on thy glittering spires 

The light their earlier grandeur knew ; — 
The beams of evening gild them yet ; 
Boabdil's brightest sun has set ! 

A deathlike silence fills thy halls ; 

Hushed is the voice of revelry ; — 
And though on thy emblazoned walls 

Some stirring records still I see, — 
Their splendour serves but to declare 
How bootless those brief triumphs were. 

Still winds the silver-bright Xenil 

Granada's gorgeous bowers among, — 

And wander "at their own sweet will" 
The Darro's shining waves along ; — 



100 LYRICS OP THE HEAET. 

Smiling in light as once they smiled 
Ere blood their crystal depths defiled. 

The Court of Lions still is there, 
But Musa's step is there no more ; 

Its fount still gushes on ; but where, 
Where are the lion hearts of yore ? 

Broken or scattered, like the spray 

Borne from its marble mouths away. 

And where are now the youthful train 

Here schooled in Honour's knightly deeds ! 

Who met on yon enamelled plain 
To try the festive tilt of reeds ? — 

Swept from the flowery paths of life. 

In wilder war — in sterner strife ! 

Why did I brave the dream of blood 
That prophesied my hapless fate, 

Without the courage to be good, 
Without ambition to be great ; — 

And wherefore like a woman weep 

O'er what I wanted strength to keep ! 

Woe, woe to thee, Granada proud. 
Thy star hath sunk to rise no more ; 

And shouts of triumph long and loud 
Proclaim thy day of glory o'er; 

Upon La Vela's sun-touched brow 

The sign of conquest glitters now ! 

It is the Cross that Christians call 
The emblem mild of faith and love ; — 



THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO. 101 

Of peace, and pure goodwill to all ; — 
Of truth, all human truth above ; — 
Yet hath it ever proved to me 
The sign of hate and treachery ! 

Before our wasted Vegas knew 

That symbol red of strife and toil, 
Ere nursed by traitor arts it grew 

The scourge of our devoted soil ; 
To me its saving grace did seem 
A glorious creed — a godlike dream ! 

But I have probed the gilded cheat 

Of all who 'neath that banner fight, 
The crafty friendship, cold deceit. 

With which they trusting hearts requite : 
"We fall ; — 'tis theirs to strike the blow. 
By one dark rebel's sin laid low ! 

My crime it was invoked the Avrath 

That on my doomed race descends ; 
A curse must ever dog my path ; 

With me the Moor's broad empire ends ; 
I would my heart's last life-drop drain 
To win that birthright back again. 

I go to hide my humbled head 

In some sequestered haunt of shame ; 

Some far and foreign land to tread. 
That hath not heard Boabdil's name : 

Perchance, should Fate such peace deny, 

A dark, inglorious death to die ! 



102 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Yet, even to earn a fate like this, 
A weightier penance still remains ; 

The blood-stained, treacherous hand to kiss 
That fixed my fate and forged my chains ; — 

And, howsoe'er my soul rebel, 

My conqueror's bloated pomp to swell ! 

To bend before his saddle-bow 

His kingly clemency to crave ; 
The scoff, the scorn, the jest, the show 

Of every idle, gaping slave ; — 
And thank his mercy for a son, 
Whose throne, realm, birthright — all ar^ gone ! 

For what is left ? A blunted spear ; 

A broken sword and dinted shield ; 
A crown he is not doomed to wear ; 

A sceptre he may never wield ; 
A blighted and dishonoured name ; 
A monarch's pride — a vassal's shame ! 

Oh, not for this his youth was trained 
To sports that best beseem a king ; 

The foremost still where Beauty reigned 
To tilt the reed, or ride the ring ; — 

And when the mimic strife was o'er, 

To nerv& his soul for nobler lore ! 

But what avail the lessons now 

His soaring soul so quickly caught ; 

That swelling heart and haughty brow 
Must soon a harder task be taught ; — 



THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO. 103 

To bleed in silence, and to hide 

Grief's canker-worm 'neath looks of pride. 

A smile hath lit Zorayma's eye, 

She sees her long-lost son draw near, 

And, tearless, half forgets to sigh 

O'er the dark chance that brings him here ; — 

She knows, she feels, that come what will, 

She is a queen — a mother still ! 

Whilst I who have so often bm-ned 

To clasp my gallant boy again ; 
Each gentler thought to anguish turned, 

Now meet his dauntless glance with pain : 
And filled with dreams of other years, 
Can only welcome him with tears ! 

Away, away, wild drops, away ! 

I must a sterner aspect wear ; 
I would not to yon slaves betray 

The secret of my soul's despair ; — 
No ; let their shouts of triumph ring, 
I'll meet them like Granada's King ! 

Throw wide the gates, the hundred gates, 

That ne'er received a foe before ; 
For, lo ! the conqueror's pageant waits 

To tread the halls we tread no more ; 
Lead on ; at length I've burst the spell ; 
And now, majestic pile, farewell ! 



104 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



THE TWIN SISTERS. 

"They grew together 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted 
But yet an union in partition ; 
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart." 

Shakspeake. 

I SAW them when their bud of life 

Was slowly opening into flower, 
Before a cloud of care or strife 

Had burst above their natal bower ; — 
Ere this world's blight had marred a grace 
That mantled o'er each smiling face. 

What were they then ? Two twinkling stars, 

The youngest of an April sky ; — 
Far, far from earth, and earthborn jars, 

Together shining peacefully ; — 
Now borrowing, now dispensing light ; 
Radiant as Hope, and calm as bright. 

What were they then ? Two limpid streams 
Through life's green vale in beauty gliding ; 

Now, blent like half-forgotten dreams ; 
Now, 'neath the gloom of willows hiding ; 

Now, dancing o'er the turf away. 

In playful Avaves and glittering spray. 

I see them as I saw them then, 

With careless brows, and laughing eyes ; 



A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE. 105 

They flash upon my soul again 

With all their infant witcheries ; 
Two gladsome spirits sent on earth 
As envoys from the Muse of Mirth. 

Such fancy's dreams ; but never more 

May fancy with such dreams be fed : 
The buds have withered to the core 

Before their leaves had time to spread ! 
The stars have fallen from on high ; 
The streams are now for ever dry ! 

When spring was brightening all the skies, 
'Mid blooming flowers and sunny weather, 

Death came to them in gentlest guise, 
And smote them in his love together ; — 

In concert thus they lived and died. 

And now lie slumbering side by side ! 



A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE. 

I SAW her in her morn of hope, in life's delicious Spring, 
A radiant creature of the earth, just bursting on the wing ; 
Elate and joyous as the lark when first it soars on high. 
Without a shadow in its path, — a cloud upon its sky ! 

I see her yet — so fancy deems, — her soft, unbraided hair 
Gleaming, like sunlight upon snow, above her forehead fair : 

24 



106 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Her large dark eyes, of changing light, the winning smile that 

played, 
In dimpling sweetness, round a mouth Expression's self had 

made ! 

And light alike of heart and step, she bounded on her way. 
Nor dreamed the flowers that round her bloomed would ever 

know decay ; — 
She had no winter in her note, but evermore would sing, — 
What darker season had she known, — of Spring, of only 

Spring ! 

Alas, alas ! that hopes like hers, so gentle and so bright. 
The growth of many a happy year, one Avayward hour should 

blight ; 
Bow down her fair but fragile form, her brilliant brow o'ercast. 
And make her beauty, like her bliss, a shadow of the past ! 

Years came and went, we met again, — but what a change was 

there ! 
The glossy calmness of the eye, that whispered of despair ; 
The fitful flushing of the cheek, the lips compressed and thin, 
The clench of the attenuate hands, — proclaimed the strife 

within ! 

Yet, for each ravaged charm of earth, some pitying power had 

given 
Beauty, of more than mortal birth, a spell that breathed of 

heaven ; — 
And as she bent, resigned and meek, beneath the chastening 

blow. 
With all a martyr's fervid faith her features seemed to glow ! 



LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT. 107 

No wild reproach, no bitter word, in that sad hour was spoken, 
For hopes deceived, for love betrayed, and plighted pledges 

broken ; — 
Like Him who for his murderers prayed, she wept, but did 

not chide ; 
And her last orisons were said for him for whom she died ! 

Thus, thus, too oft, the traitor Man repays fond Woman's 

truth ; 
Thus blighting, in his wild caprice, the blossoms of her youth : 
And sad it is in griefs like these o'er visions loved and lost, 
That the truest and the tenderest heart must always suffer 

most ! 



LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT. 



"Time cannot thin thy ilowing hair, 

Nor take one I'ay of light from thee ; 
For in my fancy thou dost share 
The gift of immortality !" 

WORDSWOKTH. 



Thou wert fair when first we met. 
As a youthful poet's dream ; 

Thou art lovely still, and yet, 

Where, where's the vernal gleam 

That around thy footsteps hung, 

When our hearts and hopes were youn^ 

Thou wert joyous as the bird. 
When its first wild flight it tries ; 



108 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And tliy softliest wliispered word 

Breathed the mirth of summer skies ; 
Thou art silent now when glad ; 
Serious ever — sometimes sad. 

Thou didst love in other years, 
Songs of light and joyous flow, 

But the strains that stir thy tears, 
Are thy cherished pastime now ; 

Thou hast learned to gather gladness 

From the very depths of sadness. 

Yes, thy blue eye's changing light, 
Shed a keener radiance then ; 

And thy smile so dazzling bright, 
Ne'er can be so bright again ; — 

Let each faithless grace depart, 

Spring can never leave thy heart ! 

It is warm as ever still, 

Fond and faithful to the core ; 

Withering sorrow cannot chill. 

Would she ne'er might wring it more ! 

Years may dim the rose of youth. 

So they spare the bosom's truth. 

Time and his twin-sister Care, 

Have but lightly touched thy brow ; 

And the lines imprinted there, 
Never lovelier seemed than now ; 

For they breathe the spell refined 

Of a sorrow-chastened mind. 



^TNA. 



109 



Wherefore tlien should I repine 
That thou art not as of old ; 

Since maturer gifts are thine, 

Precious treasures, wealth untold ; 

Charms thy youth could never know, 

Graces, time alone bestow ! 

If we are not what we were, 
We have not endured in vain ; 

Since the present hour is fair, 
Why evoke the past again ! 

Am not I, and art not thou. 

Calmer, wiser, happier now ! 



^TNA. 



A SKETCH. 



"I looked, and saw the face of things quite clianged." 

'• Paradise Lost." 



It was a lovely night ; — the crescent moon 

(A bark of beauty on its dark blue sea). 

Winning its way amid the billowy clouds, 

Unoared, unpiloted, moved on. The sky 

Was studded thick with stars, which glittering streamed 

An intermittent splendour through the heavens. 

I turned my glance to earth ; — the mountain winds 

Were sleeping in their caves, — and the wild sea. 

With its innumerous billows, melted down 

To one unmoving mass, lay stretched beneath 



110 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

In deep and tranced slumber ; giving back 

The host above with all its dazzling sheen, 

To Fancy's ken, as though the luminous sky 

Had rained down stars upon its breast. Suddenly, 

The scene grew dim : those living lights rushed out. 

And the fair moon, with all her gorgeous train. 

Had vanished like the frost-work of a dream. 

Darkness arose ; and volumed clouds swept o'er 
Earth and the ocean. Through the gloom, at times, 
Sicilian Etna's blood-red flame was seen 
Fitfully flickering. The stillness now 
Yielded to murmurs hurtling on the air 
From out her deep-voiced crater ; and the winds 
Burst through their bonds of adamant, and lashed 
The weltering ocean, that so lately lay 
Calm as the slumbers of a cradled child. 
To a demoniac's madness. The broad wave 
Swelled into boiling surges, which appeared, 
Whene'er the mountain's lurid light revealed 
Their progress to the eye, presumptuously 
To dash against the ebon roof of heaven. 

Then came a sound — a fearful, deafening sound — 
Sudden and loud, as if an earthquake rent 
The globe to its foundations ! With a rush. 
Startling deep Midnight on her throne, rose up. 
From the red mouth of Etna's burning mount, 
A giant tree of fire, whence sprouted out 
Thousands of boundless branches, that put forth 
Their fiery foliage in the sky, and showered 
Their fruit, the red-hot levin, to the earth. 
In terrible profusion. Some fell back 



iE T N A. Ill 

Into the liell from wliich tliey sprang ; and some, 

Gaining an impulse from the winds that raged 

Unceasingly around, sped o'er the main, 

And, hissing, dived to an eternal home 

Beneath its yawning billows. The black smoke. 

Blotting the snows that shroud pale Cuma's height, 

Rolled down the mountain's sides, girding its base 

With artificial darkness ; for the sea, 

Catania's palaces and towers, and even 

The far-off shores of Syracuse, revealed 

In the deep glare that deluged heaven and earth, 

Flashed forth in fearful light upon the eye. 

And there was seen a lake of liquid fire 

Streaming and streaming slowly on its course ; 

And widening as it flowed, like the dread jaws 

Of some huge monster ere its prey be fanged. 

At its approach the loftiest pines bent down. 

And strewed its surface with their trunks ; — the earth 

Shook at its coming ; — towns and villages. 

Deserted of their denizens, were 'whelmed 

Amid that flood, and lent it ampler force ; 

The noble's palace, and the peasant's cot. 

Alike but served to swell its fiery tide : 

Shrieks of wild anguish rushed upon the gale. 

And universal Nature seemed to wrestle 

"With the gaunt forms of Darkness and Despair. 



112 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 



TO A CHILD, AFTER AN INTERVAL 
OF ABSENCE. 

I MISS thee from my side, 

With thy merry eyes and blue ; 
From thy crib at morning-tide. 

Oft its curtains peeping through ; 
In the kisses, not a few, 

Thou wert wont to give me then ; 
In thy sleepy sad adieu, 

When 'twas time for bed again ! 

I miss thee from my side. 

With thy question oft repeated ; 
On thy rocking-horse astride. 

Or beneath my table seated : 
Or, when tired and overheated 

With a summer-day's delight, 
Many a childish aim defeated. 

Sleep hath overpowered thee quite ! 

I miss thee from my side, 

When brisk Punch is at the door ; 
Vainly pummels he his bride, 

Judy's wrongs can charm no more ! 
He may beat her till she's sore. 

She may die, and he may flee ; 
Though I loved their squalls of yore, 

What's the pageant now to me ! 



TO A CHILD. 113 

I miss thee from my side, 

When the light of day grows pale ; 
When with eyelids opened wide, 

Thou wouldst list the oft-told tale, 
And the murdered babes bewail ; 

Yet so greedy of thy pain, 
That, when all my lore would fail, 

I must needs begin again ! 

I miss thee from my side. 

Blithe cricket of my hearth ! 
Oft in secret have I sighed 

For thy chirping voice of mirth : 
When the low-born cares of earth 

Chill my heart, and dim my eye, 
Grief is stifled in its birth. 

If my little prattler's nigh ! 

I miss thee from my side. 

With thy bright, ingenuous smile ; 
With thy glance of infant pride. 

And the face no tears defile : — 
Stay, and other hearts beguile, 

Hearts that prize thee fondly too ; 
I must spare thy pranks awhile ; 

Cricket of my hearth, adieu ! 



25 



114 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



A REMONSTRANCE. 

TO A FRIEND WHO COMPLAINED TO THE AUTHOR THAT HE WAS 
" ALL ALONE !" 

Oh ! say thou art not all alone 

Upon this wide, cold-hearted earth ; — 
Sigh not o'er joys for ever flown, — 

The vacant chair, the silent hearth : 
Why should the world's unholy mirth 

Upon thy quiet dreams intrude. 
To scare those shapes of heavenly birth, 

That people oft thy solitude ! 

Though many a fervent hope of youth 

Hath passed, and scarcely left a trace ; 
Though earth-horn love, its tears and truth, 

No longer in thy heart have place ; 
Nor time, nor grief can e'er efface 

The brighter hopes that now are thine ; 
The fadeless love, all-pitying grace. 

That makes thy darkest hours divine ! 

Not all alone ; for thou canst hold 

Communion sweet with saint and sage ; 
And gather gems, of price untold. 

From many a consecrated page : 
Youth's dreams, the golden lights of age, 

The poet's lore, — are still thine own ; 
Then, while such themes thy thoughts engage, 

Oh ! how canst thou he all alone ! 



A EEMONSTKANCE. 115 

Not all alone ; the lark's rich note, 

As mounting up to heaven, she sings ; 
The thousand silvery sounds that float 

Above, below, on morning's wings ; 
The softer murmurs twilight brings, — 

The cricket's chirp, cicada's glee ; 
All earth, that lyre of myriad strings, 

Is jubilant with life for thee ! 

Not all alone ; the whispering trees, 

The rippling brook, the starry sky, 
Have each peculiar harmonies 

To soothe, subdue, and sanctify : 
The low, sweet breath of evening's sigh, 

For thee hath oft a friendly tone, 
To lift thy grateful thoughts on high, 

And say — thou art not all alone ! 

Not all alone ; a watchful Eye, 

That notes the wandering sparrow's fall, 
A saving Hand is ever nigh, 

A gracious Power attends thy call ; — 
When sadness holds thy heart in thrall, 

Oft is His tenderest mercy shown ; 
Seek then the balm vouchsafed to all. 

And thou canst never be alone ! 



116 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 



A SCENE FROM FAUST. 

" She half enclosed him with her arras, 
She pressed him with a meek embrace, 
And bending- back her head, looked up, 
And gazed upon his face." 

Coleridge. 

She had been waiting for him, till her heart 
Was stirred, almost to bursting, with the strife 
Of hope and fear, the fondness and mistrust, 
That only lovers know : and she had vowed 
To chide her truant for his long delay ; 
To frown, look cold and stately as a queen ; 
Discourse of broken vows, dissevered ties ; 
And ask if men were faithless all, like him ! 
But, as she sat within her garden bower, 
She heard the music of his well-known step ; 
And all her firm resolves, resentments, doubts, 
The pride of slighted beauty, were dispelled. 
As if those sounds had power to exorcise 
All thoughts that did not minister to love ! 
And her eye caught the dancing of his plume, 
'Mid the green branches, as he strode along ; 
Her quick ear drank his melody of voice, 
As its sweet accents syllabled her name, 
Till every echo round repeated it ! 

What should she do ? Go hide her from his search ; 
Teach the gay laggard she too could be slow ; 
And bid him feel, in part, what she had felt, 



A SCENE FROM EAUST. 117 

To make their after-meeting more divine ! 

The fancy pleased her ; and she fled before him, 

Swift as a startled fawn, as graceful too ; 

Gained their accustomed trysting-place unseen, 

And hid herself in sport behind the door ; 

Meaning to dart to his unconscious arms, 

Just as his brow was gathering to a frown, 

That she could break her promises like him. 

She would have stilled the beating of her heart, 

That she might catch the first, faint distant sounds 

Of his approaching footsteps ; but suspense 

Lent it a wilder impulse, and its throbs ' 

Grew momently more loud. She gasped for breath, 

As the thick boughs that hid her summer haunt 

Rustled, the latch was lifted, and the words, 

"Margaret, dear Margaret !" in the faltering tones 

Of one who seeks but scarce expects an answer, 

Fell on her charmed ear. 

She rushed towards him, 
With all her sex's fervency and truth, 
Its willing faith, devotedness of soul, — 
Forgetful only of its proud reserve, — 
And, twining round his neck her snowy arm, 
Clung to his lips, as though the world and life 
Had nothing for her half so sweet beside ! 
And, in the pauses of that wild embrace, 
She breathed, in few and scarce articulate words, 
The love shut up in her deep heart till then. 
She had no thought that virtue might not own. 
No guile to mask, no purpose to conceal ; 
So she poured forth the secrets of her soul 
With all the frankness of a woman's love. 
Who judges others by her own pui'e self. 



118 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And for the world, — what were its frowns to her, 
Who held the all of wealth she wished her own, 
In the small circle of her straining clasp. 
Alas, alas, that woman's gentler feelings 
Should ever he employed to work her woe ! 
That those deep impulses which, were they left 
To take their natural course, must lead to bliss, 
Should sometimes prove the ministers of ill, 
And, swelling to a wild and stormy sea, 
O'erwhelm the virtues they were meant to nourish. 
They stood in deep entrancement, heart to heart. 
With not a breath to break the hush around them, 
Save the wild throbbings of each bounding breast. 
Half-smothered sighs, and soft, low-murmured words, 
That told an endless tale of love, and love ! 

It was a rich, bright, tranquil summer's eve ; 
The sun was resting on the horizon's verge ; 
The distant mountains wearing crowns of gold. 
Like vassal kings arose to guard his throne ; 
And every object round appeared to grow 
Instinct with softer beauty. On the breeze, 
Through the half-open lattice, came the breath 
The honeyed breath, of many a fragrant flower, 
Closing its sweet eyes on day's farewell beam. 
All things conspired to make those moments yield 
A full repayment for the grief of years ; — 
And Faust had half forgot the doom that hung, 
Like the huge avalanche a breath brings down, 
O'er his devoted head ; until a laugh, 
A fiend-like laugh, a loud, harsh, bitter taunt, 
As if in mockery of a bliss too pure 
For evil spirits to behold unpained. 



LOVE AND SPRING. 119 

Kecalled him to a sense of what he was, 
And what he soon must be ! 

And devilish eyes 
Were leering on them, shedding baleful light 
On that sweet scene of more than mortal passion ! 
Another kiss — another, and another ; — 
When lo ! the fiend grew clamorous that his dupe 
Should dare resist his will, and burst upon him. 
Dragging him forth from that bright paradise 
To shades where he might tutor him in guile, 
And bid him plan the ruin of a heart, 
Whose only fault was loving him too well ! 

Alas, alas ! that Man so oft should be 

The slave of some dark, scheming fiend like this ! 

And, spirited by him to deeds of ill. 

Should pay dear Woman's fond confiding truth, — 

Blasting the beauty he was born to cherish, — 

With falsehood, treachery, despair, and death ! 



LOVE AND SPRING. 

'TwAS the genial month of flowers, 
Merry May, when first we met ; 

Youth, and Hope, and Love were ours, 
Love, and Hope arc with us yet ; — 

Time, and Care defy the will, 

But our hearts are spring-like still. 



120 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 

Time may " thin the flowing hair ;" 
Rob the eye of half its light ; 

And the breath of low-born Care 
Hope may canker, Beauty blight ; — 

Fate may frown and friends grow chill, 

So the heart be vernal still ! 

Centred thus 'mid Alpine snows, 
Storms above, and glaciers 'round. 

One green spot no winter knows ; 
But, like fairy-haunted ground. 

Holds within its charmed ring 

All the freshest hues of spring ! 



THE DESERTED COTTAGE. 



" Whither thou goest I will go ; and where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thy people shall 
be my people, and thy God my God ; where thou diest will I die, and there will I be 
buried." 

Boole of Ruth. 



They leave their native land, a mournful parting, 
Fortune to follow o'er the distant main ; 

No loud lament is theirs, though tears are starting 
To dim the eyes that may not look again. 

For life hath had for them but changeful weather ; 

Afar they seek serener skies to find ; 
They go, and, blessed lot, they go together. 

And leave no fond and breaking heart behind : 



A PORTRAIT FROM REAL LIFE. 121 

To count the lagging hours, too slowly dying, 
The martyr's penance, but without his vow ; 

To hear the question, with no voice replying, 

"Where can they be, what are they doing now ?" 

Peace may be found upon a stormy billow, 

And soft repose upon a rocking sea ; 
Disquietude knows many a downy pillow ; 

Whore the heart rests, 'tis there its home will be. 

Brief gleams of gladness Grief herself may borrow ; 

Joy is not linked to one peculiar spot ; 
Thy climax this they know who know thee, Sorrow, 

The single heart and the divided lot ! 

Who sends the suffering, knows the situation. 

Notes the heart's sigh, and listens to its prayers ; 

" In this (the world) ye shall have tribulation ;" 
Their hearts are one, — oh, let one grave be theirs ! 



A PORTRAIT FROM REAL LIFE. 



"What now to her is all the world's esteems ; 
She is awake, and cares not for its dreams ; 
But moves, while yet on earth, as one above 
Its hopes and fears— its loathing and its love." 

Crabbe. 



'TiS said she once was beautiful ; and still, — 
For 'tis not Time that can have wrought the ill,- 
Soft rays of loveliness around her form 
Beam, as the rainbow that succeeds the storm 
26 



122 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

Brightens a noble ruin. In her face, 

Though somewhat touched by sorrow, you may trace 

How fair she was in life's untroubled spring, 

Ere joy grew sere, or earthly hope took wing. 

O'er her pure forehead, pale as moonlit snow, 

Her ebon locks are parted, — and her brow 

Breaks forth like morning from the shades of night. 

Serene, though clouds hang over it : the bright 

And searching glance of her Ithuriel eye 

Might even the sternest hypocrite defy 

To meet it unappalled ; — 'twould almost seem 

As though, epitomized in one deep beam, 

Her full collected soul upon the heart, 

Whate'er its mask, she strove at once to dart. 

Patient in suffering, she has learned the art 

To bleed in silence and conceal the smart ; 

And oft, though quick of feeling, has been deemed 

Almost as cold and loveless as she seemed, 

Because to fools she never would reveal 

Wounds they would probe without the power to heal. 

No ; whatsoe'er the visions that disturb 

The fountain of her thoughts, she knows to curb 

Each outward sign of sorrow, and suppress, 

Even to a sigh, all tokens of distress. 

Yet some, perhaps with keener vision than 

The crowd, that pass her by unnoted, can, 

Through well-dissembled smiles, at times discern 

A settled anguish, that would seem to burn 

The very brain that quickens it ; and when 

This mood of pain is on her, then, oh ! then 

A more than wonted paleness of the cheek. 

And, it may be, a flitting hectic streak. 



THE REQUIEM OF YOUTH. 128 

A tremulous motion of the lip or eye, 
Are all that anxious friendship can descry. 
Unkindness and neglect she knows to bear 
Without complaint, almost without a tear. 
Save such as hearts internally will weep, 
And they ne'er rise the burning lids to steep : 
But to those petty wrongs that half defy 
Human forbearance, she can make reply 
With a proud lip and a contemptuous eye. 
There is a speaking sadness in her air, 
A shade of languor o'er her features fair, 
Born of no common grief ; as though Despair 
Had wrestled with her spirit, been o'erthrown, 
And these the trophies of the strife alone. 
A resignation of the will, a calm 
Derived from true religion (that sweet balm 
For wounded breasts), is seated on her brow ; 
And ever to the tempest bends she now, 
Even as a drooping lily that the wind 
Sways as it lists. The sweet affections bind 
Her sympathies to earth ; her peaceful soul 
Has long aspired to that immortal goal. 
Where pain and anguish cease to be our lot. 
And worldly cares and frailties are forgot. 



THE REQUIEM OF YOUTH. 

Oh, whither does the spirit flee 
That makes existence seem 

A day-dream of reality. 
Reality a dream ? 



124 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

We enter on the race of life, 
Like prodigals we live, 

To learn how much the world exacts 
For all it hath to give. 

The fine gold soon becometh dim. 
We prove its base alloy ; 

And hearts enamoured once of bliss 
Ask peace instead of joy. 

Spectres dilate on every hand, 
That seemed but tiny elves ; 

We learn distrust of all, when most 
We should suspect ourselves. 

But why lament the common lot 
That all must share so soon ; 

Since shadows lengthen with the day. 
That scarce exist at noon. 



A MAIDEN'S SOLILOQUY. 



' Silence in love bewrays more woe 
Than words, though ne'er so witty, 
A beggar that is dumb, you know, 
May challenge double pity." 

Sib Walter Raleigh. 



I'll not believe I am not loved. 
Although his words are few ; 

The deepest streams have ever proved 
As cold and silent too. 



THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. 125 

He never said my form was fair ; 

My cheek might shame the rose ; 
And yet the smile that other's share 

O'er him a shadow throws. 

Wit's arrows pass him harmless by, 

A Cymon's self might move ; 
Each shaft diverted by a sigh, — 

The eloquence of love. 

And when I sing the stirring songs 

That charm all other ears, 
His trembling voice his purpose wrongs, 

He cannot praise — for tears ! 

But should another claimant rise. 

And gentle words bespeak. 
The lightning flashes to his eyes, 

The heart-blood to his cheek ! 

I know I rule his bosom's chords, 

A despot on my throne ; 
When will he give his feelings words, 

And take me for his own ! 



THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. 

"The Abbess and Nuns of Royal-Lieu fell victims to the revolutionary mad- 
ness. She and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold on the same 
(lay. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, they all chaunted the 
• Veni Creator.' Their arrival at the place of execution did not interrupt their 



126 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

strains ; one head fell, and its voice ceased to join the celestial chorus ; but the 
song continued. The Abbess suffered last, and her single voice still raised 
the devout canticle. It ceased — and the silence of death ensued." — Madame 
Campan. 

Dark clouds are hurrying tlirougli the sky, 

'Tis autumn's fitful eve, 
And the dying breeze is murmuring by. 

With a sound that makes one grieve ; — 
A stifling heat is in the air, 
Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair. 

And unseen fingers weave 
A giant veil of shadows dun. 
Before the broad, red, sinking sun. 

Black, as with wrath, yon angry cloud 

Seems to pause in its mid career. 
As the trampling steps of the crushing crowd 

To one gory spot draw near : 
What mean their yells of horrid glee. 
Those tossing heads, like a stormy sea. 

Clenched hands, and brows severe ? 
Whence come that savage tiger brood 
To glut their demon lust for blood? 

But hark ! what thrilling sounds arise 

From yon slow-moving throng ; 
Floating like incense to the skies. 

In one rich tide of song ! 
And see, where opening to their tread, 
Those ruthless men shrink back, — and led 

By Faith, serene yet strong, 
A meek-eyed band, with tireless breath, 
Prolong that prelude note of death ! 



THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. 127 

Theirs is no hope forlorn ; thej wend 

Exulting on their way ; 
lleckless how soon their course may end, 

Their life-blood ebb away ; 
They seem to share one thought, one breath, 
And marshalled thus by Faith to death, 

In beautiful array. 
Those martyr Sisters glide along, 
Breathing their parting prayers in song ! 

No fears have they ; the savage crowd 

May scowl on them in vain ; 
Their steps are firm, their bearing proud. 

Unfailing still their strain. 
They see the reckless scaffold nigh. 
With dauntless heart, untroubled eye, 

Their blood so soon must stain ; 
And lift their vesper hymn on high, 
Swan-like, resolved to sing and die. 

Lo ! how she bends her to the block. 

The foremost of that guiltless throng. 
And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke, 

Are stayed at once her breath and song ! 
Yet still the angelic strain peals on 
More thrilling sweet ; till, one by one, 

Is hushed each tuneful tongue ; 
And to that sainted band 'tis given 
To join seraphic choirs in heaven ! 



128 LTEICS OF THE HEART. 



THE ANNIVERSARY. 

Twenty chequered years have past, — 
Summer suns and wintry weather, — 

Since our lot, in concert cast, 

Eirst we "climbed the hill together." 

And the world before us lay, 

In its brightest colours dressed, 
As we took our joyous way, 

To select our place of rest. 

Fortune's smiles we could not boast ; 

Eame, — we never dreamed of Fame ; 
Friendship, e'en when needed most, 

We had only known by name ; — 

Fate denying trappings rich. 

We decked our bower with humbler things, 
And, in Friendship's empty niche, 

Love installed without his wings. 

There, though twenty years have fled. 
Chequered o'er by good and ill, 

He lifts aloft his beaming head. 

The same young, household idol still. 



THE YOUNGLING OF THE FLOCK. 129 



THE YOUNGLING OF THE FLOCK. 

Welcome, thrice welcome to my heart, sweet harbinger of 

bliss, 
How have I looked, till hope grew sick, for a moment bright 

as this ! 
Thou hast flashed upon my aching sight when Fortune's clouds 

are dark. 
The sunny spirit of my dreams — the dove unto mine ark ! 

Oh no ! not even when life was new, and Love and Hope were 

young. 
And o'er the firstling of my flock with raptured gaze I hung, 
Did I feel the glow that thrills me now, the yearnings fond 

and deep. 
That stir my bosom's inmost chords, as I watch thy placid 

sleep ! 

Though loved and cherished be the flower that springs 'neath 

summer skies. 
The buds that bloom 'mid wintry storms more tenderly we 

prize ; 
One does but make our bliss more bright, the other meets our 

eye. 
Like the radiant star, when all beside have vanished from the 

sky. 

Sweet blossom of my stormy hour, star of my troubled heaven, 
To thee that passing sweet perfume, that soothing light is 
given ; 

27 



180 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And precious art thou to my soul, but dearer far that thou, 
A messenger of peace and love, art sent to cheer me now. 

What though my heart be crowded close with inmates dear 

though few, 
Creep in, my little smiling babe, there's still a niche for you ! 
And should another claimant rise, and clamour for a place, 
Who knows but room may still be found, if it wears as fair a 

face. 

I listen to thy feeble cry, till it 'wakens in my breast. 
The sleeping energies of love — sweet hopes, too long repressed ; 
For, weak as that low wail may seem to other ears than mine. 
It stirs my heart, like a trumpet's voice, to strive for thee and 
thine ! 

It peals upon my dreaming soul sweet tidings of the birth 
Of a new and blessed link of love, to fetter me to earth, 
And, strengthening many a fond resolve, it bids me do and 

dare 
All that a father's heart may brave, to make thy sojourn fair. 

I cannot shield thee from the blight a bitter world may fling 
O'er all the promise of thy youth, the vision of thy spring ; 
For, I would not warp thy gentle heart, each kindlier impulse 

ban. 
By teaching thee — Avhat I have learned — how base a thing is 

man. 

I cannot save thee from the griefs to which our flesh is heir. 
But I can arm thee with a spell, life's keenest ills to bear ; 
I may not Fortune's frowns avert, but I can bid thee pray 
For Avealth this world can never give, nor ever take away. 



THE YOUNGLING OP THE FLOCK. 131 

From altered Friendsliip's chilling glance, from Hate's en- 
venomed dart, 

MisjDlaced Affection's withering pang, or " true Love's" wonted 
smart, 

I cannot save my sinless child ; but I can hid him seek 

Such Faith and Love from heaven above as leave earth's 
malice weak. 

But wherefore doubt that He who makes the smallest bird His 

care. 
And tempers to the new-shorn lamb the blast it ill could bear, 
Will still His guiding arm extend, His gracious plan pursue. 
And if He gives thee ills to bear, will grant thee courage too. 

Dear youngling of my little fold, the loveliest and the last, 
'Tis sweet to deem what thou mayst be, when long, long years 

have past ; 
To think, when time hath blanched my hair, and others leave 

my side ; 
Thou mayst be then my prop and stay, my blessing and my 

pride ! 

And when the world hath done its worst, when life's fever-fit 

is o'er. 
And the griefs that wring my weary heart can never touch it 

more, 
How sweet to think thou mayst be near to catch my latest 

sigh. 
To watch beside my dying bed, and close my glazing eye ! 



Oh ! 'tis for offices like these, the last sweet child is given, 
The mother's joy, the father's pride, the fairest boon of 
heaven ; 



132 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

Their fireside plaything first, and then of their failing strength 

the rock ; 
The rainbow to their waning years, — the Youngling of their 

Flock! 



EVENING. 



• The holy time is quiet as a Nun, 
Breathless with adoration." 

Wordsworth. 



'TiS evening : on Abruzzo's hill 
The summer sun is lingering still. 
As though unwilling to bereave 

The landscape of its softest beam, — 
So fair, one can but look and grieve 

To think that like a lovely dream, 
A few brief, fleeting moments more 
Must see its reign of beauty o'er ! 

'Tis evening : and a general hush 

Prevails, save when the mountain spring 
Bursts from its rock, with fitful gush. 

And makes melodious murmuring ; — 
Or when from Corno's brow severe 

The echoes of its convent bell 
Come wafted on the far-ofi" ear. 

With soft and diapason swell : 
But sounds so wildly sweet as they, 
Ah, who would ever wish away ! 



A woman's farewell. 133 

Yet there are seasons when the soul, 

Rapt in some dear delicious dream, 
Heedless what skies may o'er it roll, 

What rays of beauty round it beam, 
Shuts up its inmost depths, lest aught 

HoAvever wondrous, wild, or fair, 
Shine in, and interrupt the thought. 

The one deep thought that centres there. 

Though with the passionate sense so shrined 

And canonized, the hues of grief 
Perchance be closely intertwined. 

The lonely bosom spurns relief! 
And could the breathing scene impart 

A charm to make its sadness less, 
'Twould hate the balm that healed its smart, 

And loathe the spell of loveliness 
That pierced its cloud of gloom, if so 
It stirred the stream of thought below. 



A WOMAN'S FAREWELL. 

ADAPTED TO AN AIR BY MOZAKT. 

Fare thee well ! 'Tis meet we part. 
Since other ties and hopes are thine ; 

Pride that can nerve the lowliest heart. 
Will surely strengthen mine ! 

Yes, I will wipe my tears away, 
Repress each struggling sigh ; 



134 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

Call back the thouglits thou led'st astray, 
Then lay me down and die ! 

Fare thee well ! I'll not upbraid 

Thy fickleness or falsehood now ; — 
Can the wild taunts of love betrayed 

Repair one broken vow ? 
But, if reproach may wake regret 

In one so false or weak, 
Think what I was when first we met, 

And read it — on my cheek ! 

Fare thee well ! On yonder tree 

One leaf is fluttering in the blast. 
Withered and sere — a type of me — 

For I shall fade as fast : 
Whilst many a refuge still hast thou. 

Thy wandering heart to save 
From the keen pangs that wring mine now 

I have but one — the grave ! 



THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 

WRITTEN AFTER MEETING A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL MEMBER OF THE ORDER 
IN THE HOTEL DIEU OF PARIS. 

Art thou some spirit from that blissful land 
Where fever never burns nor hearts are riven ? 

That soothing smile, those accents ever bland, 

Say, were they born of earth, or caught from heaven ? 



THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 135 

Art thou some seraph-minister of grace, 

Whose glorious mission in the skies had birth ? 

An angel sure in bearing, form, and face, 
All but thy tears — and they belong to earth ! 

Oh, ne'er did beauty, in its loftiest pride, 

A splendour boast that may compare with thine ; 

Thus bending low yon sufferer's bed beside, 
Thy graces mortal, but thy cares divine. 

A woman, filled with all a woman's fears. 

Yet strong to wrestle with earth's wildest Avoe ; 

A thing of softest smiles, and tenderest tears, 
That once would tremble did a breeze but blow : 

Leaving, perchance, some gay and happy home, 
Music's rich tones, the rose's odorous breath, 

Throughout the crowded lazar-house to roam, 
And pierce the haunts of Pestilence and Death. 

For ever gliding with a noiseless tread. 

As loth to break the pain-worn slumberer's rest ; 

To smooth the pillow, raise the drooping head, 
And pour thy balsam on the bleeding breast. 

Or, in each calmer interval of pain. 

The Christian's hope and promised boon to show ; 
And, when all human anodynes are vain, 

To nerve the bosom for its final throe. 

To lead the thoughts from harrowing scenes like this, 
To that blessed shore where sin and sorrow cease 

To imp the flagging soul for realms of bliss, 

And bid the world-worn wanderer part in peace. 



136 ■' LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

A creature vowed to serve both. God and man, 
No narrow aims thy cherished care control ; 

Thou dost all faith, love, pity, watching can, 
To heal the body, and to save the soul. 

No matter who, so he thy service need ; 

No matter what the suppliant's claim may be ; 
Thou dost not ask his country or his creed ; 

To know he suffers is enough for thee. 

Not e'en from guilt dost thou thine aid withhold, 
Whose Master bled a sinful world to save ; 

Fearless in faith, in conscious virtue bold, 

'Tis thine the sick blasphemer's couch to brave: 

To note the anguish of despairing crime, 
Lash the wild scorpions of the soul within ; 

Those writhings fierce, those agonies sublime. 

That seem from conscience half their force to win : 

Then stand before the dark demoniac's sight, — 
The cup of healing in thy gentle hand ; — 

A woman, strengthened with an angel's might. 
The storm of pain and passion to command. 

To calm the throbbings of his fevered brow ; 

Cool his parched lips, his bleeding wounds to bind 
And with deep faith, before the Cross to bow 

For power to still the tumult of his mind. 

And it is given : thy softliest whispered word 
There falls like oil on a tempestuous sea ; 

Hard as his heart may seem, there's yet a chord 
Once touched, his ravings all are stilled by thee. 



THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 137 

I see thee stand and mark that wondrous change, 
With more than mortal triumph in thine eye ; 

Then blessed and blessing, turn with tears to range 
Where other claimants on thy pity lie. 

By many a faint and feeble murmur led, 
A willing slave, where'er the wretched call ; 

I see thee softly flit from bed to bed, 

Each wish forestalling, bearing balm to all. 

Performing humblest ofiices of love 

For such as know no human love beside. 

Still on thy healing way in mercy move, 
Daughter of Pity, thus for ever glide ! 

All peace to thee and thy devoted band. 
Vowed to earth's gloomy " family of pain ;" 

Whose worth could e'en the unwilling awe command 
Of blood-stained men who owned no other chain. 

Long may ye live the cherished badge to wear, 
Whose snow-white folds might dignify a queen ; 

To fainting souls your cup of life to bear. 
And be the angels ye have ever been. 



28 



138 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 



STANZAS. 



ADDEESSED TO MISS M. J. JEWSBTJET, LATE MES. ELETCHEE, ON HEE 
"EAEEWELL TO THE MUSE." 



(jENTLE Minstrel, say not so, 

Bid not thus the Muse farewell ; 
Since to her 'tis thine to owe 

Many a soft and soothing spell ; 
Fraught with power to bring a train 

Of unhidden joys around thee : 
If she "lightens hours of pain," 

And when Fate's barbed arrows wound thee. 
Pours upon thy bleeding heart 
Balsam sweet to heal the smart ; 
If thou'st loved her "long and well," 
Wherefore bid her now farewell ? 

Fame's proud steep is hard to climb ; 

Never poet gained its brow, 
And its laurel wreath sublime, 

But with toilsome steps and slow ; 
For the Muse is coy to yield 

To the first light vows we make her ; 
Who would see her spells unsealed, 

To their inmost hearts must take her ; 
Cherish her in weal or woe. 
And all other loves forego ; 
Nor, when fancies wild impel, 
Bid her thus, like thee, farewell ! 



STANZAS TO M. J. J. 139 

Why pronounce her promise vain, 

And her name, ungrateful, wrong ; 
Why declare in such a strain, 

In so wildly sweet a song, 
That she ne'er to thee hath given 

Gleams of her ethereal fire, — 
Foretaste of her native heaven. 

Now to soften, now inspire. 
Where, if not on hearts like thine. 
May she pour her rays divine ! 
To whom may she her mysteries tell, 
If thou must bid her thus farewell ! 

Then take thy Lute, and it shall be, — 

Betide what may of dark or bright, — 
Even as Aladdin's lamp to thee. 

The depths of thine own heart to light : 
To point where gems unnumbered shine. 

Wealth thou mayst scarcely deem of now, 
And bid thee thence a circlet twine. 

To grace thy young, aspiring brow ; 
A wreath of more than mortal birth. 
To keep thy memory green on earth, 
When thou hast bidden Song's sweet spell, 
Muse, Lute, and Life, indeed farewell ! 



140 LYEICS OP THE HEART. 



GUARDIAN ANGELS. 

"Thousands of ministering angels walk the earth 
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 

Milton. 

Children, who rosy rest 

Seek on a mother's breast, 
Know that above you are other arms spread ; 

Love, a love stronger, 

Protecting you longer, 
Watching your footsteps, and guarding your bed. 

Sorrow must dim your eyes. 

Cares will with years arise. 
Ambushed around you lie many a snare ; 

Angels, defend your charge ; 

Let them not roam at large ; 
Follow for ever to bid them beware ! 

Young heirs of sorrow, 
Whose hope is to-morrow, 
O'er you a banner of love be unfurled ; 
Make you a special care, 
Prompting the secret prayer 
"Not to release, but to keep from the world." 

Body-guard holy, 

To man bequeathed solely. 
Vainly to see you our vision we strain ; 

Asking of form and face. 

Shadows we seek to trace. 
Stretching our arms to enfold you, in vain. 



YOU ASK ME FOR A PLEDGE, LOVE. 141 

Follow US in tlie strife, 

Guard 'mid the throng of life, 
With each temptation fresh succour to bring ; 

Closer and closer press, 

Innocence needs ye less ; 
When was the streamlet as pure as the spring ? 

Not with the set of sun 

Labours of love are done ; 
Angels ! a night-watch to you hath been given ; 

Slumber give not your eyes. 

Till the glad morn arise, 
And your whole flock is safe folded in heaven ! 



YOU ASK ME FOR A PLEDGE, LOVE. 

You ask me for a pledge, love, but gaze upon my cheek. 
And let its hue, when thou art near, my heart's devotion 

speak ; 
Look on my dim and tearful eye, my pale and rigid brow. 
List to my deep, unbidden sigh, — what need of pledge or vow ? 

Y'^ou ask me for a pledge, love, some token of my truth ; 
Take then this flower, an emblem meet of woman's blighted 

youth ; 
The perfume of its withered leaves, triumphant o'er decay, 
May whisper of my changeless love when I have passed away ! 



142 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

"What, yet another pledge, love ; then mark me while I vow, 
By all this heart hath borne for thee, by all it suffers now ; 
In grief or gladness, hope, despair, in bliss or misery, 
I'll be, what I have ever been — to thee, to only thee ! 



MY NATIVE VALE. 

My native vale, my native vale ! 

How many a chequered year hath fled, 
How many a vision, bright and frail. 

My youth's aspiring hopes have fed, 
Since last thy beauties met mine eye. 

Upon as sweet an eve as this. 
And each soft breeze that wandered by. 

Whispered of love, repose, and bliss : 
I deemed not then a ruder gale. 
Would sweep me soon from Malhamdale ! 

Who may the Poet's thoughts unfold 

Ere yet he pours his soul in song, — 
When hopes, all glowing but untold. 

And passions, numberless and strong. 
Are pent within his youthful breast, 

Or murmured but in secret sighs ; 
Till Love, the fondliest cherished guest, 

His fettered tongue at length unties. 
And bids as wild a strain prevail 
As once I breathed in Malhamdale. 



MY NATIVE VALE. 143 

And she, avIio listened to my lays, 

With downcast eye and blushing cheek, 
Her smiles were as the sunny rays 

That bade the lips of Memnon speak ; 
Till all the feelings, wild and warm, 

My swelling heart had nursed so long, 
Yielding to that all-powerful charm. 

Burst forth in one full tide of song ; 
Alas, that dreams so fair should fail ; 
We met no more in Malhamdale ! 

Ay, they whose fondness made thee seem 

A paradise on earth to me ; 
The one bright star whose tender beam 

Shed light upon my destiny ; 
The kindly sympathies of love, 

The old familiar forms, are flown, 
And, sered in heart, 'tis mine to rove 

This cold and desert world alone : 
I, only I am left to wail 
O'er the lost joys of Malhamdale ! 

When toiling, 'neath a foreign sky. 

For wealth that none are left to share. 
How oft would Memory's wistful eye, 

Revert to scenes and hours more fair ; 
The village church, my cottage-home. 

With all its clustering woodbines gay, 
The glades through which I loved to roam, 

In years that seemed but yesterday, 
Flashed on my soul, and told a tale 
Of youth, and hope, and Malhamdale. 



144 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

I never closed my wearied eye 

But visions sweet as these were mine, 
Nor offered up a prayer on high 

That did not breathe of thee and thine : 
In dreams by night, in dreams by day, 

In hours of gloom or revelry. 
Sweet scenes of youth's enchanted May, 

My thoughts were still of thine and thee ! 
What now can Memory's light avail : — 
What now to me is Malhamdale ! 

And what am I ? An exile pale. 

With wasted form and withered heart, 
Transplanted to his native vale, 

To droop awhile, and then depart ; 
To think of all that might have been. 

Of joys, that gold could never buy; 
Just wander o'er each long-loved scene. 

Then seek me out a grave and die ; 
Sleep — with no stone to tell my tale — 
By her I loved, in Malhamdale. 

My native vale — my native vale ! 

Even as I mark thy shadows change, 
Sweet strains seem breathing on the gale, 

I feel a thrilling new and strange ; 
A radiant form is rising now. 

How fair, upon my waning sight ; 
I know her by her starlike brow. 

Her loving eyes so blue and bright ; 
She beckons me, life's pulses fail ; 
Adieu, adieu, my native vale ! 



TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE BARRET. 145 



TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE BARRET. 



•One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 
Another came, nor yet beside the rill. 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he !" 

Gray. 



Worthy the disciple of his art divine, 
Whose golden sunsets, rich romantic shores. 
And pastoral vales, reflect fair Nature's face. 
In every varying charm her beauty "wears, , 
How have I loved thy pencil ! Not a grace 
Shed over earth from yon blue vault above. 
At Dawn, Noon, Sunset, Twilight, or when Night 
Draws o'er the sleeping world her silvery veil. 
But thou hast traced its source and made thine own ! 
Nay, not an hour that circles through the day, 
But thou hast marked its influence on the scene, 
And touched each form with corresponding light ; 
Till all subdued the landscape round assumes, — 
Like visions seen through Hope's enchanted glass, — 
A beauty not its own; and "cloud-capped towers," 
And gorgeous palaces, and temples reared, 
As if by magic, line the busy strand 
Of* some broad sea, that ripples on in gold 
To meet the setting sun ! Nor less I prize 
Thy solemn twilight glooms ; when to mine eye. 
Indefinite, each object takes the shape 
That fancy lists ; and in the crimsoned west, 
Bright as the memory of a blissful dream, 
29 



146 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

As unsubstantial too, the dayliglit fades, 

And "leaves the world to darkness and to me." 

Primitive Painter ! Neither age, nor care, 
Nor failing health, — though all conspired to mar 
The calmness of thj soul, — could dim the power 
Thy pencil caught from Truth. Thou shouldst have lived, 
Where sunny Claude his inspiration drew. 
By Arno's banks, in Tempe's haunted vale ; 
Or learned Poussin, 'neath the umbrageous oaks 
Of some old forest, bade his sylvan groups. 
Goddess with Mortal, Faun with Dryad joined. 
To Pan's untutored music circle round. 
For such the themes thy chastened fancy loved ; 
But now thy sun has set, thy twilight sunk 
In deepest night, and thou hast sought a sky 
Where never cloud or shade can vex thee more. 



A FAREWELL. 

Yes, I will join the world again. 

And mingle with the crowd; 
And though my mirth may be but pain. 
My laughter wilderment of brain. 
At least it shall be loud. 

'Tis true, to boAv before the shrine 

Of heartless revelry. 
Is slavery to a soul like mine ; 
Yet better thus in chains to pine. 

Than ever crouch to thee. * 



A FAREWELL. 147 

Ay, better far to steep the soul 

In pleasure's sparkling tide ; 
Bid joy's unholy sounds control 
The maddening thoughts that o'er it roll, 

Than wither 'neath thy pride. 

Yet I have loved thee — oh, how well ! 

But words are wild and weak ; — 
The depth of that pervading spell 
I dare not trust my tongue to tell, 

And hearts may never speak. 

The stubborn pride, none else might rein, 

Hath stooped to love and thee ; 
But, as the pine upon the plain. 
Bent by the blast springs up again, 

So shall it fare with me. 

Though thou hast wrapped me in a cloud, 

Nought now may e'er dispel, 
In silentness my wrongs I'll shroud. 
And love, reproach, pain, passion, crowd 

Into one word — Farewell ! 

'Tis done — the task of soul is taught ; 

At length I've burst the spell 
That, 'round my heart so firmly wrought. 
Fettered each loftier, nobler thought ; 

xind now. Farewell — Farewell ! 



148 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 



SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

Scenes of my childhood, once more I behold ye, 

'Mid the green waving lindens that graced ye of yore ; 

Friends of my childhood, once more I enfold ye. 
What would my gloom-boding spirit have more ! 

Scenes of my childhood, in sadness I greet ye, 

Can your freshness and bloom youth's gay season restore ? 

Friends of my childhood, in sorrow I meet ye, 
For a welcome is wanting can glad me no more ! 

Scenes of my childhood, the breath of your flowers 
Is loaded with memories too painful for bliss ; 

Friends of my childhood, there's gloom in your bowers. 
Oh, where are the bright beaming glances I miss ! 

Scenes of my childhood, let strangers possess ye ; 

Can ye witness again what ye witnessed of yore ? 
Friends of my childhood, in vain ye caress me. 

For the kiss that Avas sweetest, can charm me no more I 



I THINK OF THEE. 

I THINK of thee, I think of thee. 
And all that thou hast borne for me ; — 
In hours of gloom, or heartless glee, 
I think of thee — I think of thee ! 



I THINK OF THEE. 

"When fiercest rage the storms of Fate, 

And all around is desolate, 

I pour on life's tempestuous sea 

The oil of peace with thoughts of thee I 

When Fortune frowns, and Hope deceives me. 
And summer-friendship ve.ers and leaves me, 
A Timon from the world I flee ; 
My wreck of wealth, sweet dreams of thee ; 

Or if I join the careless crowd 

Where laughter peals, and mirth grows loud. 

Even in my hours of revelry 

I think of thee, I think of thee ! 

I think of thee, I think and sigh 
O'er blighted years and bliss gone by ; — 
And mourn the stern, severe decree 
That hath but left me thoughts of thee ! 

In youth's gay hours, 'mid Pleasure's bowers, 
When all was sunshine, mirth, and flowers, 
We met ; I bent th' adoring knee. 
And told a tender tale to thee ! 

'Twas summer's eve ; the heavens above. 
Earth, ocean, air, were full of love ; 
Nature around kept jubilee. 
When first I breathed that tale to thee ! 

The crystal arch that hung on high 
Was blue as thy delicious eye ; — 
The stirless shore and sleeping sea. 
Seemed emblems of repose and thee ! 



149 



150 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

I spoke of hope, I spoke of fear, — 
Thy answer was a blush and tear ; — 
But this was eloquence to me. 
And more than I had asked of thee! 

I looked into thy dewy eye. 
And echoed thy half-stifled sigh, — 
I clasped thy hand and vowed to be 
The soul of love and truth to thee ! 

That scene and hour have past ; yet still 
Remains a deep, impassioned thrill, — 
A sunset glow on memory, 
That kindles at a thought of thee. 

We loved ; how wildly, and how well 
'Twere worse than idle now to tell : 
From love and life alike thou'rt free, 
And I am left — to think of thee ! 

Though years, long years, have darkly sped 
Since thou wert numbered with the dead. 
In fancy oft thy form I see, — 
In dreams, at least, I'm still with thee ! 

Thy beauty, helplessness, and youth, — 
Thy hapless fate, untiring truth ; 
Are spells that often touch the key 
Of sweet but mournful thoughts of thee ! 

The bitter frown of friends estranged ; 
The chilling straits of fortunes changed ; 
All this, and more, were borne for me ; — 
Then how can I be false to thee I 



THE GRAY HAIR, n 151 

I never will : I'll think of tliee 
Till fades the power of memory : 
In weal or woe, in gloom or glee, 
I'll think of thee ! I'll think of thee ! 



THE GRAY HAIR. 

Come, let me pluck that silver hair 
Which 'mid thy clustering curls I see ; 

The withering type of Time or Care 
Hath nothing, sure, to do with thee. 

Years have not yet impaired the grace 

That charmed me once, that chains me now ; 

And Envy's self, love, cannot trace 
One wrinkle on thy placid brow. 

Thy features have not lost the bloom 

That brightened them when first we met : 

No ; rays of softest light illume 
Their unambitious beauty yet. 

And if the passing clouds of Care 

Have cast their shadows o'er thy face, 

They have but left, triumphant, there 
A holier charm — more witching grace. 

And if thy voice hath sunk a tone. 
And sounds more sadly than of yore, 

It hath a sweetness, all its own, 
Methinks I never marked before. 



152 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 

Thus young, and fair, and happy too, — 
If bliss indeed may here be won, — 

In spite of all that care can do. 

In spite of all that Time hath done ; 

Is yon white hair a boon of love. 
To thee in mildest mercy given ; 

A sign, a token from above. 

To lead thy thoughts from earth to heaven ? 

To speak to thee of life's decay ; 

Of beauty, hastening to the tomb ; 
Of hopes, that cannot fade away ; 

Of joys, that never lose their bloom ? 

Or springs the thread of timeless snow 
With those dark, glossy locks entwined, 

'Mid Youth's and Beauty's morning glow. 
To emblem thy maturer mind ? 

It does, it does : — then let it stay ; 

Even Wisdom's self were welcome now : 
Who'd wish her soberer tints away, 

When thus they beam from Beauty's brow ! 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

My fair-haired boy ! as thus I gaze 
Upon thy calm, untroubled sleep, 

I feel the hopes of other days, — 

The cherished hopes for words too deep, — 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 153 

Unfold within my heart again, 

Like flowers refreshed by summer rain ! 



The brightness of thy dark blue eye 
Still peers its half-closed lids between, 

Like glimpses of an April sky 

Through clouds of snowy whiteness seen ; 

And dimpling smiles are lingering now 

Round thy sweet mouth, and sunny brow ! 

The spirit of some gentle dream 

Hath kindled, sure, thy glowing cheek, 

And lent that half-shut eye the beam 
Which seems in furtive light to speak 

Of tameless glee, of antics wild, 

Of "nods and becks," my sinless child! 

October's winds are chill and drear, 

And howl our cottage-home around, 
Whilst emblems of the waning year 

In ceaseless eddies strew the ground : 
I gaze upon a leafless tree, 
And deem it but a type of me. 

But when I turn from Nature's waste, 

From thoughts those saddening sights can bring. 
And look on thee, I seem to taste 

The freshness of a second spring ; 
And feelings, long repressed, arise, » 
That whisper hopes of brighter skies. 

Oh, did not anxious cares alloy 

My bliss with thoughts of future ill, 
30 



154 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

Now might I taste of perfect joy, 

Mj heart with sweetest rapture thrill, 
As thus, with yearnings fond and deep, 
I watch my guileless infant sleep ! 

But bodings full of fear will throng, 
Unbidden, on my feverish brain ; 

And thoughts of sickness, blight, and wrong, 
Come back upon my heart again : 

And, sitting by thy side, I grieve 

O'er dreams I cannot choose but weave. 

I turn me to the past, and mourn 
That what has been again may be ; 

I weep, lest ills that I have borne 

Should be in store, my child, for thee ; — 

To warp thy truth, to cloud thy brow. 

And make thee all that I am now : 

The slave of anguish that has taught 
My harp the echo of my heart, — 

Of hopes, with bright enchantment fraught, 
To stir my soul and then depart, — 

Of gentle thoughts, inspired to bless, 

All turned to tenfold bitterness ; — 

Of waning health, a wasted frame, 
"Worn by the racking strife within ; 

Of^jride not even grief may tame. 
That weighs upon my heart like sin ; 

Of glowing visions of delight 

Dimmed by their own excess of light : 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 155 

The dupe of every sordid fool, 

With just enough of sense to cheat 
A simple novice in the school 

Where souls grow learned in deceit ; 
The victim of man's selfish schemes, 
For deeming him the thing he seems ! 

Till every finer feeling sered, 

Each kindlier impulse rudely checked, — 
Hopes to my trusting youth endeared. 

Crushed by unkindness or neglect ; 
I look around with altered eye, 
And deem the world all treachery ! 

Yet it shall have my blessing still. 

And I will worship its decree. 
Will bend unmurmuring to its will. 

Nay, court its frowns and contumely. 
So every wrong it heaps on me 
May win its smile, my babe, for thee. 

But, lo ! those merry eyes unclose. 

And dart their thousand meanings round, — 

Thy cheek with fresher crimson glows. 
Thy brow with sunnier light is crowned, 

As, bursting slumber's silken chain. 

Thou bid'st past hopes revive again. 

Thus do thou, ever thus, when Care 
Flings her dark shadows o'er my way, 

And hopes, as perishing as fair, 

Like withered leaves have dropped away, 

Shed light upon my heart and brow, — 

To rapture turn my tears as now ! 



15G LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



THE GIRL AND THE HAWK. 

FROM A PICTURE BY G. S. NEWTON, R.A. 

Graceful "phantom of delight !" 
Glorious type of beauty bright ! 
Such as haunts the poet's vision, 
When his dreams are all elysian, — 
When his musing fancy brings 
Shadows of all lovely things ; 
And famed Zeuxis' art excelling, 
He hath formed a second Helen, — 
Wanting but the power of speech, — 
From the glowing traits of each ! 

But she may not vie with thee ! 
There's a sweet simplicity 
Elitting round thine open brow. 
Sporting on thy ripe lips now, 
Mantling o'er thy maiden cheek 
In hues that leave description weak ; 
With a brightness all too real 
For a poet's beau ideal ! 

Though an angel's grace is thine, 
Though the light is half divine. 
That with chastened lustre flashes 
From beneath thine eyes' dark lashes ; 
Yet thy thoughtful forehead fair, 
And that sweetly pensive air, 



THE MELODY OF YOUTH. 157 

Speak thee but of mortal birth, 
An erring, witching child of earth ; 
In each varied mood revealing 
Human hope and human feeling ; 
Gladsome now — now vowed to sorrow — 
Glad to-day if sad to-morrow ! 

Huntress fair, the sport is over, 
Wherefore chain thy feathered rover ? 
Rich indeed the prize must be, 
That could lure him far from thee ! 
What to him those silken jesses. 
Tangled in thy glossy tresses ; 
Dazzled by thy beauty's light. 
Can he plume his wings for flight ; 
Fettered by a smile so bland, 
Will he ever leave thy hand ? — 
No ; — let him on thy beauty feed. 
And he'll no firmer jesses need. 



THE MELODY OF YOUTH. 

Delicious strain ! upon my charmed ear. 

As evening's balmy breath upon a brow 

Fevered with fruitless watchings, dost thou steal, 

To bid my world-worn heart retrace the scenes 

Where first it drank thy sweetness ! What a crowd 

Of home-bred joys, of visions loved and lost, 

That simple cadence brings ; each lengthening note 

Fraught Avith its own peculiar memory ! 

Once seemed that song, so passing mournful noAv, 

Gay as the dreams of boyhood, — and like them 



158 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

The source of blameless joy to all around ; 
But when in after years, 'mid busier scenes, 
Again I listened to those wood-notes wild, 
Methought they sounded sadder than of yore : 
Yet were they soothing, for my wayward heart, 
Though something tamed from what it once had been, 
Was still all hope ; and had not wholly lost 
The buoyant spirit only youth can know ! 
How sad is now that simple song to me ; 
How changed from what it was when life was new. 
And like the clouds that gird a summer sun. 
Tinged with ethereal brightness, all things 'round 
Gathered their hues of gladness from my heart. 

Breathe on ! breathe on ! 'tis soothing sweet to deem 
That what thou wert in other years to me. 
Thou mayst be still to many a youthful heart. 
As joyous, Avarm, and true as once was mine ! 
Strain of my youth, all mournful as thou art 
To me, the tears thy soft, deep notes awaken 
Are grateful as the dew to withered flowers ! 
And though thy tenderest notes are ever fraught 
With memories sad, I would not now recall ; 
Yet such their magic influence on my soul, 
I deem them sweetest when they pain me most ! 



THE EXILES. 

'Tis eve on the ocean, the breeze is in motion, 
And swiftly our vessel bounds forth on her way ; 

The blue sky is o'er us, the world is before us, 
Then Helen, my sweet one, look up and be gay ! 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 159 

Why sorrow thus blindly, for those who unkindly 

Could launch and then leave us on life's troubled sea ; 

Who so heartlessly scanted the little we wanted, 
And denied us the all that we asked — to be free ! 

But we've 'scaped from their trammels, the word is "away," 

Then Helen, my sweet one, look up and be gay ! 

On, on we are speeding, and swiftly receding, 

The white cliffs of Albion in distance grow blue, 
Now that gem of earth's treasures, that scene of past pleasures, 

The land of our childhood fades fast from our view ! 
Though thus exiled we sever from England for ever, 

We'll make us a home and a country afar : 
And we'll build us a bower, where stern Pride has no power. 

And the frown of Oppression our bliss may not mar : 
We have broken our chain, and the word is " away !" 
Then Helen, my sweet one, look up and be gay I 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

Steal his arrow, break his bow, 
From his eyes the film remove ! 

Clip his wings, and he will grow 
More like Friendship far than Love. 

What though Love no faults may see, 
Where's the heart he fails to wring ? 

And whate'er his vows may be, 
He's for ever on the wing. 



160 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Mischief is his cherished aim, 

Which, though blind, he seldom misses ; 

And where once he lights a flame, 
Judas-like he slays with kisses. 

Friendship is a safer guest. 

When without disguise we find her ; 

And, where once she makes her nest. 
Vows are not required to bind her. 

But would Love her eyes but borrow, 
Doff his wings, abjure his dart. 

He should be my guest to-morrow. 
Never more from me to part. 



THE DEATH OF POMPEY THE GREAT. 



" states vanish, ages fly ; 
But leave one task unchanged — to suffer and to die." 

Hemans. 



Not when his golden eagles flew. 
In sunbright splendour o'er him, 

When he came, and saw, and overthrew, 
And kings bent down before him ; 

Not in his hour of regal pride, 

When his navies, darkening Egypt's tide. 
To fame and conquest bore him, — 

Did ever Pompey's laurelled brow, 

To one fond heart seem bright as now. 



THE DEATH OF POMPEY THE GREAT. IGl 

When a monarch, ay, almost a god, 

Rome's fickle legions crowned him ; 
When nations waited on his nod. 

And myriads thronged around him : 
Cornelia sat beside his throne, 
His fame, wealth, honours, all her own, 

Hers the sole chains that hound him ; 
But never did her lips avow 
Such deep, devoted love as now. 

Forlorn, deserted and betrayed. 

An exile on the wave. 
Doomed of the satraps he had made 

Life's paltry boon to crave ; 
Of wealth, fame, power, even hope bereft, 
Spurned by his summer friends, and left 

No refuge but the grave, — 
What lifts his soul his fate above. 
What but Cornelia's changeless love ! 

She looks upon Pelugium's strand, 

Fierce hosts are gathering there ; 
And she numbers each succeeding band, 

With a wild and troubled air ; 
Proud ships are dancing in the bay ; 
"Is it their homage thus they pay," 

She asks, " or but a snare, 
Some dark device of Caesar's hate. 
To seal my royal Pompey's fate ?" 

A boat comes tilting through the spray 

To bear him to the shore ; 
One kiss, and then away, away ! 

One word — and all is o'er ! 
31 



162 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Vain her entreaties ; vainer now, 
The hodings wild that cloud the brow 

Her lips may press no more ; 
Bright prows are stirring in the bay ; 
The die is cast, away — away ! 

A shriek is on that noontide wave, 

Despairing, loud, and shrill ; 
Oh, that her love had power to save 

The blood they rush to spill ! 
It may not be ; he looks his last, — 
One moment — and the struggle's past ; 

Even now his heart grows chill ; 
He draws his mantle o'er his eyes. 
And as he lived, great Pompey dies ! 

And shouts of triumph rend the air 

From the slaves who mark his fall ; 
But the thrilling voice of that deep despair 

Is heard above them all ! 
'Tis the requiem wild of Woman's love. 
The cry of blood to heaven above, — 

May vengeance note the call ; — 
And yon dastard traitors' cheeks grow pale 
At the dooming tones of that fearful wail, 

'Tis eve ; those savage shouts are o'er. 
That shriek hath died away ; 

And far from Egypt's fatal shore, 
Her bark pursues its way ; — 

What is to her the fitful breeze, 

The conflict stern of the skies and seas. 
To the calm of yonder bay ! 



THE DEATH OF POMPEY THE GREAT. 163 

She'd rather seek the whirlpool's breast, 
Than on those blood-stained waters rest. 

What recks it where the casket lies, ' 

When the gem it shrined is gone, — 
Who bids the funeral pile arise, 

When the deathless soul is flown ! 
And yet, might honours duly paid. 
Truth's tears, appease a warrior's shade, 

For a martyr's wrongs atone ; 
Fall'n chief, those offerings, half divine, 
That incense of the heart, is thine ! 

Though of all the minions of thy power, 

Who once meet homage paid thee ; 
Who fawned on thee in fortune's hour. 

And when it waned betrayed thee ; 
Not one court-parasite is near. 
To mourn above the bloody bier. 

Where traitor hands have laid thee ; 
Two humble friends with duteous love. 
Now bend thy mangled form above. 

And gathering from the grasping wave, 

The relics of a bark 
Wrecked, like the glories of the brave 

When fortune's clouds grow dark ; 
They spread them for thy funeral pile. 
Then breathing vengeance deep the while. 

Kindle the glowing spark ; 
And flames, as bright as Truth, arise. 
To grace great Pompey's obsequies ! 



164 LYRICS or THE HEART. 



MUSIC. 

Mysterious keeper of the kej 
That opes the gates of Memory, 
Oft, in thy wildest, simplest strain, 
We live o'er years of bliss again ! 

The sunbright hopes of early youth, 
Love, in its first deep hour of truth. 
And dreams of life's delightful morn, 
Are on thy seraph pinions borne. 

To the Enthusiast's heart, thy tone 
Breathes of the lost and lovely one ; 
And calls back moments, brief as dear, 
When last 'twas wafted on his ear. 

The Exile listens to the song 
Once heard his native bowers among ; 
And straightway on his vision rise 
Home's sunny slopes and cloudless skies. 

The warrior, from the strife retired. 
By Music's stirring strains inspired. 
Turns him to deeds of glory done. 
To dangers 'scaped — and laurels won. 

Enchantress sweet of smiles and tears. 
Spell of the dreams of vanished years, 
Mysterious keeper of the key 
That opes the gates of Memory ; 



QUEEN VICTORIA AT SPITHEAD. 165 

'Tis thine to bid sad hearts be gaj, 
Yet chase the smiles of mirth away ; — 
Joy's sparkling eye in tears to steep, 
Yet bid the mourner cease to weep ! 

To gloom or gladness thou canst suit 
The chords of thy delicious lute ; 
For every heart thou hast a tone, 
Can make its pulses all thine own ! 



QUEEN VICTORIA AT SPITHEAD. 

WEITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE KEVIEW,' BY HER MAJESTY. OF 
THE EXPERIMENTAL FLEET UNDER THE COMMAND OF ADMIRAL 
HYDE PARKER, AT SPITHEAD, ON 21ST OP JUNE, 1845. 

" Britannia rules the waves !" 

Hark to that thrilling song, 
That tells us there shall be no " slaves " 

Her stalwart sons among ! 
That, wheresoe'er her flag may wave, 

Her "charter," won from heaven, she'll keep- 
Still potent to destroy or save — 

Her empire o'er the deep ! 

Hark to the cannons' roar 

As the Island Queen sweeps by ! 
To the cheers from sea to shore. 

That would seem to rend the sky ! 



166 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Hark, again ! What thunders peal, 
As those " Wooden Walls " reply ! 

Till their decks begin to reel 
With that burst of loyalty ! 

All hail our Ocean Queen ! 

Hail, too, our "Wooden Walls !" 
What dreams of glories that have been 

That gallant show recalls ! 
What heroes of the mighty deep, 

That long have run their race, 
Uprise from their fame-hallowed sleep, 

In this familiar place ! 

Too war-worn to take part 

In yon heart-stirring scene, 
Like some bright star that dwells apart. 

One ship afar is seen ; 

Safe, in her honoured age, she sleeps 

From storms she once might well defy ; 
And still the post of honour keeps, 

The eidolon of Victory ! 

And bearing many a glorious name 

Of hero-might, or battle-flood. 
Snatched from the brightest scroll of Fame, 

Are ranged yon gallant sisterhood. 
Meet spectacle for England's Queen ; 

Fit homage to her island reign ; 
Whose proudest boast hath ever been 

Her empire o'er the main ! 

" Britannia rules the waves !" 
Hark to that thrilling song 



ON A BEAUTIFUL STATUE. 167 

That tells us there shall he no " slaves" 

Her stalwart sons among ; 
That wheresoe'er her flag may wave, 

Her " charter," won from heaven, she'll keep — 
Still potent to destroy or save — 

Her empire o'er the deep ! 



ON A BEAUTIFUL STATUE BY RICHARD LANE, 
ESQ., OF HIS DEAD CHILD. 

I SAW thee in thy beauty, bright phantom of the past, 
I saw thee for a moment, 'twas the first time and the last ; 
And though years since then have glided by of mingled bliss 

and care, 
I never have forgotten thee, thou fairest of the fair ! 

I saw thee in thy beauty, thou wert graceful as the faAvn, 
When in very wantonness of glee it sports upon the lawn ; 
I saw thee seek the mirror, and when it met thy sight. 
The very air was musical with thy burst of wild delight ! 

I saw thee in thy beauty, with thy sister by thy side, — 
She a lily of the valley, thou a rose in all its pride ; 
I looked upon thy mother, there was triumph in her eyes. 
But I trembled for her happiness, for grief had made me wise. 

I saw thee in thy beauty, with one hand among her curls. 
The other, with no gentle grasp, had seized a string of pearls ; 



168 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

She felt the pretty trespass, and she chid thee, though she 

smiled. 
And I knew not which was lovelier, the mother or the child. 

I saw thee in thy beauty, and a tear came to mine eye, 

As I pressed thy rosy cheek to mine, and thought e'en thou 

couldst die ; 
Thy home was like a summer bower by thy joyous presence 

made, 
But I only saw the sunshine, and Ifelt alone the shade. 

I saw thee in thy beauty, and a cloud passed o'er my brow. 
As I thought of one as passing fair, as fondly loved as thou ; 
I remembered how at set of sun, I blessed him as he lay ; 
I remembered, ere its rising, how his soul had passed away. 

I see thee in thy beauty, for there thou seem'st to lie, 
In slumber resting peacefully, but, oh ! that change of eye. 
That fixed serenity of brow, those lips that breathe no more. 
Proclaim thee but a mockery fair of what thou wert of yore. 

I see thee in thy beauty, with thy waving hair at rest. 
And thy busy little fingers folded lightly on thy breast ; 
But thy merry dance is over, thy little race is run. 
And the mirror that reflected two can now give back but one. 

I see thee in thy beauty, with thy mother by thy side. 
But her loveliness is faded, and quelled her glance of pride ; 
The smile is absent from her lips, and absent are the pearlsj 
And a cap, almost of widowhood, conceals her envied curls. 

I see thee in thy beauty, as I saw thee on that day ; 
But the mirth that gladdened then thy home, fled with thy life 
away; 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND. 169 

I see thee lying motionless upon the accustomed floor, 
But my heart hath blinded both mine eyes, and I can see no 
more ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND, OF FEVER, 
AT LAGUIRA. 

" By foreig-n hands thy dying eyes were closed ; 
By foreign hands tliy decent limbs composed ; 
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned ; 
By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned." 

Pope. 

He left his home with a bounding heart, 

For the world was all before him ; 
And felt it scarce a pain to part, 

Such sunbright dreams came o'er him : 
He turned him to visions of future years, 

The rainbow's hues were 'round them ; 
And a father's bodings, a mother's tears, 

Might not weigh with the hopes that crowned them. 

That mother's cheek is far paler now. 

Than when she last caressed him ; 
There's an added gloom on that father's brow. 

Since the hour when last he blessed him : 
Oh ! that all human hopes should prove 

Like the flower that will fade to-morrow ; 
And the cankering fears of anxious love 

Ever end in truth and sorrow ! 

He left his home with a swelling sail, 
Of fame and fortune dreaming, — 
82 



170 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

With a spirit as free as the vernal gale, 
Or the pennant above him streaming : 

He hath reached his goal ; — by a distant wave, 
'Neath a sultry sun they laid him ; 

And strangers bent above his grave 
When the last sad rites were paid him. 

He should have died in his own loved land, 

With friends and kindred near him ; 
Not have withered thus on a foreign strand, 

With no cherished friend to cheer him. 
But what recks it now ? Is his sleep less sound, 

Where the breezes wild have swept him, 
Than if home's green turf his grave had bound. 

Or the hearts he loved had wept him ? 

Then why repine ? Can he feel the rays 

That pestilent sun sheds o'er him; 
Or share the grief that must cloud the days 

Of the friends who now deplore him ? 
No; his bark's at anchor, its sails are furled. 

It hath 'scaped the storm's deep chiding ; 
And safe from the buffeting waves of the world. 

In a haven of peace is riding. 



FORGET THEE,— NO, NEVER! 

Forget thee, — no, never ! Why cherish a thought 
To the friend of thy soul with injustice so fraught ; 
Why embitter our fast fading moments of bliss 
By suspicion so wild and unfounded as this? 



A DAY DREAM. ITl 

Forget thee, — no, never ! Among the light hearted, 
Love may droop and decay when the fond ones are parted. 
But aJGFection like ours is too deep and sublime 
To be chilled in its ardour by absence or time. 

Then, gentle one, banish all doubt from thy breast ; 

By the kiss that so late on thy lips I impressed ; 

By the griefs that have blighted the bloom of my years : 

By the hope that still calls forth a smile through my tears : 

But the hour of our parting, thus sweetly delayed ; 
By truth deeply tried, and by trust unbetrayed ; — 
I will not forget thee ! — Till life's latest ray 
In the dark night of death shall have melted away, — 

'Mid ambition, fame, poverty, riches, or sadness, — 
Pain or peril, or hate, or contention, or gladness ; 
Let changes the darkest or brightest betide. 
Thy memory shall still be my solace and pride ! 



A DAY DREAM, 

WRITTEN AFTER THE AUTHORS RECOVERY FROM ILLNESS. 

" O ! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, 
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, 
To make the shifting clouds be what you please." 

Coleridge. 

Why, what a Paradise is earth to-day ! 

Some heavy torpor must have locked my soul 

In dull, unvarying listlessness till now ! 

Some envious film must sure have dimmed my eyes, 



172 LYRICS OE THE HEART. 

xlnd veiled this world of beauty from my sight, 
For long, long years ! — Yon ever glorious sun 
Darts his life-giving beams upon my heart, 
And stirs it to a deeper sense of bliss 
Than e'er it felt before. My pulses grow 
Instinct with new existence, fresher life ; 
And all around me gathers as I gaze. 
Hues of a more pervading loveliness 
Than it was wont to wear ! The clouds above 
Flow on like molten silver ; now and then 
Fretted with crimson tinges, and anon 
Streaked with the deep blue of the upper sky. 
That spreads and spreads beyond them in a sea 
Of living sapphire. Multitudes of forms. 
Palpably bright and beautiful, are moving 
Athwart the depths of heaven ; and I see, — 
So Fancy in her wayward mood would deem, — 
File upon file of rich and gorgeous shapes 
Advancing, and advancing without end ! 

Throned in a car, inwoven of the beams 
Of the descending sun, whose flashing wheels 
Leave a long trail of glory as they speed. 
Towers the mighty and majestic form 
Of the Imperial Captain ; — Him who led 
The forces of th' Omnipotent against 
The dark and daring Lucifer, and hurled 
The "race rebellious" to "combustion down" 
And "bottomless perdition !" On his brow, 
His starry brow, a coronal is wreathed. 
Worthy the temples of the King of kings ! 
His shining sword is sheathless, and its blade, 
Like a death-dooming meteor ere it falls 



A DAY DREAM. 173 

In ruin upon earth, flaslies in light, 
In terrible light, whichever way it turns ! 
Celestial scorn, defiance without pride. 
And all the wrath the son of God may own, 
Hath curled his lip in beautiful disdain. 

In the distance, 
A huge, slow-moving mass appears to rise. 
Darkening the sky. I look again, and lo ! 
Myriads of forms, in phalanx firm conjoined, 
Press on to ruin in one turbulent host 
'Gainst the celestial Chief. In the van, 
The master Demon lifts his lordly crest 
In proud and insolent triumph, and abroad 
Waves his tremendous falchion ! In his eye, 
Pride, hate, ambition, cruelty are glassed. 
As in a mirror. O'er his lofty front 
His ebon locks. Medusa-like, are wreathed 
In many a snaky fold ; and on his brow, 
Undiademed, are throned revenge sublime. 
Bloated defiance, lust of pomp and power. 
And resolution not to be subdued. 

Those hostile bands advance, and now have gained 
Midway the arch of heaven ! — They pause awhile, — 
Then to the charge, and straight from pole to pole. 
The bray of battle rings ! 

The sun hath dropped 
Into the blushing bosom of the West, 
And with him the bright pageant too hath vanished ! 
The clash of helm and shield, the sounds of war, . 
Fancy had wafted on my dreaming ear. 



174 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

Have sunk to silence. Not a breath disturbs 

The deep serene around me ; and above, 

Kises a lofty cupola of sky, 

In blue, eye-soothing beauty and repose ! 

No battling seraphim are there ; but clouds 

Slow sailing on, in placid loveliness, 

Like pleasure-barks upon a summer sea. 

No shields and helms shine forth in dazzling lustre ; 

But where the God of day hath left his smile, 

Are countless hues cameleon-like, that change 

As the glance strives to trace them, and become 

Momently deeper than before ; anon, 

Twilight begins to weave her fairy web 

Of light and gloom, and, from the deepening East, 

Night spreads her ebon arms to clasp the world. 



MEET ME AT SUNSET. 

Meet me at sunset, the hour we love best. 
Ere day's last crimson blushes have died in the west ; 
When the shadowless ether is blue as thine eye. 
And the breeze is as balmy and soft as thy sigh ; 
When giant-like forms lengthen fast o'er the ground 
From the motionless mill and the linden trees round ; 
When the stillness below, the mild radiance above, 
Softly sink on the heart, and attune it to love. 

Meet me at sunset, — oh ! meet me once more, 

'Neath the wide-spreading thorn where you met me of yore. 



INVOCATION TO THE ECHO OF A SEA-SHELL. 175 

When our hearts were as calm as the broad summer sea 
That lay gleaming before us, bright, boundless, and free ; 
And, with hand clasped in hand, we sat spell-bound, and 

deemed 
That life would be ever the thing it then seemed : — 
The tree we then planted, green record, lives on. 
But the hopes that grew with it are faded and gone. 

Meet me at sunset, beloved, as of old, 

When the boughs of the chestnut are waving in gold ; 

When the starry clematis bends down with its bloom, 

And the jasmine exhales a more 'witching perfume. 

That sweet hour shall atone for the anguish of years. 

And though fortune still frown, bid us smile through our 

tears : 
Through the storms of the future shall soothe and sustain ; 
Then, meet me at sunset — oh, meet me again ! 



INVOCATION TO THE ECHO OF A SEA-SHELL. 



" Murmuving-s from within 
Were heard, sonorous cadences, whereby 
To his belief the monitor expressed 
Mysterious union with its native sea." 

Wordsworth. 



Voice of the deep, illimitable sea, 

Discarded offspring of the wind and wave ! 

That, like a captive struggling to be free, 
Thus ever moan'st in thy mysterious cave, — 

Art thou a siren, by some sea-god's spell, 

Prisoned in this smooth shell ? 



176 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Or, but a spirit of the vasty deep, 

Called up to earth by some enchanter's wand ? — 
Whose was the charm that broke thy long, cold sleep, 

And sent thee, murmurmg, from thy parent sand ? 
How wert thou ushered to the realms of day. 
Siren or spirit, say ? 

Yet more, — I would know more ! I burn to pierce 
The hidden secrets of thine ocean home ; — 

Where are the victims of its surges fierce, 

Who dreamed of calms, to wake amid their foam ; 

The souls that perished 'neath the stormy wave. 

When none were nigh to save ? 

Where are the stately ship and gallant crew. 
Whose hapless fate is sealed to all beside ; 

The warrior bold a fear that never knew ; 

The gentler hearts that death could not divide ? 

Where are the lost and loved so many seek ? 

Speak, I conjure thee, speak ! 

How dost thou answer ? With a low, sweet dirge, 
Sad as the booming of the sullen main, 

The far-off warnings of the restless surge. 

When storms are growing into strength again ! 

Perchance a requiem for the glorious dead, 

Youth, beauty, valour, fled. 

Whate'er thy source and purpose, I rejoice 
To list thy mystic murmurings, soft and clear : 

To me thou seemest like a still, small voice, 

By Conscience whispered in my world-vexed ear, 

To lead my soul from grovelling things of earth. 
To hopes of loftier birth ! 



XnE WEDDIiJTG DAY. 177 



THE WEDDING DAY. 



'The last! the last! the last! 
Oh, by that little word, 
How many thoughts are stirred !" 

Cakoline Southet. 



Nay, chide me not ! I cannot chase 

The gloom that wraps my soul away ; 
Nor wear, as erst, the smiling face 

That best beseems this hallowed day : 
Fain would my yearning heart be gay. 

Its wonted welcome breathe to thine ; 
But sighs come blended with my lay. 

And tears of anguish blot the line. 

I cannot sing, as once I sung 

Our bright and cheerful hearth beside ; 
When gladness ruled my heart and tongue, 

And looks of fondest love replied : 
The meaner cares of earth defied. 

We heeded not its outward din, 
How loud soe'er the storm might chide, 

So all was calm and fair within. 

A blight upon our bliss hath come ; 

We are not what we were of yore — 
The music of our hearts is dumb ; 

Our fireside mirth is heard no more ! 
33 



178 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

The little cricket's chirp is o'er 

That filled our happy home with glee ; 

The dove hath fled whose pinions bore 
Healing and peace for thee and me. 

Our youngest born, our autumn flower, 

The best beloved, because the last ; 
The star that shone above our bower. 

When many a cherished dream had passed ; 
The one sweet hope, that o'er us cast 

Its rainbow form of life and light. 
And smiled defiance on the blast, 

Hath vanished from our eager sight. 

Oh ! sudden was the wrench that tore 

Aifection's firmest links apart, 
And doubly barbed the shaft we wore 

Deep in each bleeding heart of heart : 
For who can bear from bliss to part. 

Without one sign, one warning token ; 
To sleep in peace, then wake and start, 

To find life's fairest promise broken ? 

When last this cherished day came round, 

What aspirations sweet were ours ; 
Fate, long unkind, our hopes had crowned. 

And strewn, at length, our path with flowers. 
How darkly now the prospect lowers ; 

How thorny is our homeward way ; 
How more than sad the evening hours 

That used to glide like bliss away. 

And, half infected by our gloom. 
Yon little mourner sits and sighs ; 



THE WEDDING DAY. 179 

His playthings, scattered 'round the room, 

No more attract his listless eyes : 
Mutely his infant task he plies. 

Or moves with soft and stealthy tread ; 
And called, in tones subdued replies. 

As if he feared to wake the dead. 

Where is the blithe companion gone, 

Whose sports he loved to guide and share ? 
Where is the merry child who won 

All hearts to fondness ? Where, oh, where ! 
The empty crib, the vacant chair, 

The favourite toy, alone remain. 
To whisper to our hearts' despair 

Of hopes we cannot feel again. 

Ay, joyless is our "ingle nook," 

Its genial light we own no more ; 
Our fireside wears an altered look, 

A gloom it never knew before ! 
The converse sweet, the cherished lore. 

That once could cheer our stormiest day ; 
Those revels of the soul are o'er, 

Those simple pleasures passed away. 

Then chide me not, I cannot sing 

A song befitting love and thee ; 
"My heart and harp have lost the string" 

On which hung half their melody : 
Yet soothing sweet it is to me. 

Since fled the smiles of happier years, 
To know that still our hearts are free, 

Betide what may, to mingle tears. 



180 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



SAPPHO. 

"It was her evil star above, 

Not her sweet lute that wrought her wrong; 
It was not song that taught her love, 
But it was love that taught her song." 

L. E. L. 

Though many an age hath passed away, 

Fair Sappho, since thy birth. 
Thy name, as a familiar sound, 

Still lingers on the earth. 

Whence is thy power to hold the mind ? 

What spells to thee belong ? 
Which is the stronger tie to bind, 
Thy sorrows, or thy song ? 

Though Fame o'erflowed her charmed cup, 

And bade thee freely take. 
Thy thirst was of the lonely heart. 

No earthly waters slake. 

Thy history, 'twas no common lot ; 

Thy wreath how dearly won ! 
The idol of a thousand hearts. 

That sighed in vain for one ! 

Thus fared it in the days of old, 

And thus it fares to-day : 
Genius but gives to froward Fate 

A double barb to slay. 



TO OCTAVIA. 181 



TO OCTAVIA, 

THE INFANT DAUGHTER OF THE LATE JOHN LARKING, ESQ. 

Full many a gloomy month hath passed, 

On flagging wing, regardless by, 
Unmarked by aught, save grief, since last 

I gazed upon thy bright blue eye, 
And bade my lyre pour forth for thee 
Its strains of wildest minstrelsy ? 
For all my joys are withered now. 

The hopes I most relied on thwarted. 
And sorrow hath o'erspread my brow 

With many a shade since last we parted : 
Yet, 'mid this murkiness of lot. 
Young Peri, thou art unforgot ! 

There are who love to trace the smile 

That dimples upon Childhood's cheek. 
And hear from lips devoid of guile 

The dictates of the bosom break : 
Ah, who of such could look on thee 
Without a wish to rival me ! 
None : his must be a stubborn heart, 

And strange to every gentler feeling. 
Who from thy glance could bear to part 

Cold and unmoved, without revealing 
Some portion of the fond regret 
That dimmed my eyes when last we met ! 



182 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Sweet Bud of Beauty ! 'mid the thrill, 

The sickening thrill of hope delayed, — 
Peril, and almost every ill 

That can the breast of man invade, — 
No tender thought of thine and thee 
Hath faded from my memory : 
For I have dwelt on each dear form 

Till woe, awhile, gave place to gladness, 
And that remembrance seemed to charm, 

Almost to peace, my bosom's sadness ; 
And now, again, I breathe a lay 
To hail thee on thy natal day ! 

Oh, might my fervent prayers prevail 

For blessings on thy future years, 
Or innocence, like thine, avail 

To save thee from affliction's tears, — 
Each moment of thy life should bring 
Some new delight upon its wing : 
And the wild sparkle of thine eye, 

Thy guilelessness of soul revealing, 
Beam ever thus as brilliantly ; 

Undimmed, save by those gems of feeling. 
Those soft, luxurious drops that flow 
In pity for another's woe ! 

But vain the wish ; it may not be ; 

Could prayers avert misfortune's blight, 
Or hearts from sinful passion free 

Here hope for unalloyed delight. 
Then, those who watch thine opening bloom 
Had never known an hour of gloom : 



TO OCTAVIA. 183 

No ; if the chastening stroke of Fate 

On guilty heads alone descended, 
They would not sure have felt its weight, 

In whose pure bosoms, sweetly blended, 
Life's kindliest social virtues move 
In one unfailing tide of love. 

Then since upon this earth joy's beams 

Are fading, frail, and few in number, 
And melt like the light-woven dreams 

That steal upon the mourner's slumber ; 
Sweet one ! I'll wish thee strength to bear 
The ills that heaven may bid thee share : 
And when thine infancy hath fled. 

And Time with Woman's zone hath bound thee. 
If, in the path thou'rt doomed to tread. 

The thorns of sorrow lurk and wound thee. 
Be thine that exquisite relief 
That blossoms in the springs of grief ! 

And like the many-tinted bow. 

That smiles the showery clouds away. 
May Hope, Grief's Iris here below. 

Attend and cheer thee on thy way, 
Till full of years, thy cares at rest, 
Thou seek'st the mansions of the blest ! 
Young sister of a mortal Nine, 

Farewell ! perchance a long farewell I 
Though griefs unnumbered yet be mine, — 

Griefs, Hope may vainly strive to quell, — 
'Twill half unteach my soul to pine. 
If there be bliss for thee and thine ! 



184 LYKICS OP THE HEART. 



MORNING. 



" Morn, 
Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand 
Unbars the gates of Light." 

Milton. 



Oh, burst the bonds of slumber, 
Beloved, awake, arise ! 

Night's shades are furled 

From the breathing world, 
And 'tis morn in the Eastern skies : 
Flowers fair and without number, 
Unfold their gorgeous djes ; 

Morn speeds apace 

On her glorious race. 
Then open thy star-like eyes ; 
Sweet Helen, awake, arise ! 

Rich, milk-white clouds are sailing 
Like' ships upon stormless seas ; 

The heavens grow bright 
- With liquid light, 
And fragrance loads the breeze : 
Morn's melodies prevailing. 
Sweep through the trembling trees ; 

The lark's in the sky, 

And the linnet on high. 
And wilt thou be less blithe than these ? 
Sweet Helen, awake, arise ! 



MORNING, 185 

The dew-bent rose is baring 
Its breast to the golden sun ; 

New splendours shower 

On temple and tower, 
And the stir of day's begun : 
We'll do a deed of daring 
Ere Phoebus' race be run; 

Our bark's below, 

And the breezes blow, 
And our goal will soon be won : — 
Sweet Helen, awake, arise ! 

What recks it to hearts like ours, 
Where we resolve to flee ? 

Not far we'll roam 

For a blissful home, 
Since Paradise dwells with thee ! 
We'll steer for Pleasure's bowers. 
With Hope, through life's dark sea ; 

And Love shall guide 

Us through the tide. 
And our trusty Pilot be : 
Sweet Helen, awake, arise ! 



34 



186 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



STANZAS WRITTEN AT VAUCLUSE. 

" Petrarch spent the greater part of the summer of 1346 at Vaucluse. During his former 
sojourn there, he had, by confining' the stream of the Sorgue, gained a small piece of ground, 
which he converted into a garden ; but the river overflowed its artificial bank, and he was 
finally compelled to abandon it. He has made his 'Battle with the Naiads' the subject of 
a Latin Poem." 

Campbell's Life of Petkarch. 

Not by his song, although its notes were sweet 
As though his lips had only honey known ; 

Nor by his love, it was a flame unmeet. 

Did Petrarch make all hearts, save one, his own ! 

We know his gentle spirit suffered wrong ; 

Its shadowy hopes we know, less shadowy fears ; 
His lot was cast among the sons of song. 

Sealed with their seal, the baptism of tears. 

With his hopes shipwrecked, did he not retire 
To sternest lore in manhood's golden prime ; 

Bid Learning's half-extinguished torch aspire. 
And his own tongue make perfect for all time ? 

Cimmerian darkness veiled the Muses' land. 

Till he arose and set the captives free : 
Eor this her sons still bless his gracious hand ; 

For this her daughters still bow down the knee. 

And do I stand where he himself hath stood ; 

And do mine eyes behold what his have seen ! 
A dream perchance of even the self-same mood 

My spirit knows, as on his own hath been. 



woman's love. 187 

There wells his fountain clear as Castaly ; 

There in its might his river foams along ; 
There frowns the stately castle still on high, 

Whose every stone is vocal with his song. 

Valclusa's plains are rugged as before 

His classic hand their ruggedness would till ; 

And for his garden, as he said of yore, 
"The Muses and the Naiads battle" still. 

Fair is the scene, — yet earth owns many such ; 

There doth the heart more than the eye behold ; 
There was it that his mind's irradiate touch 

Turned, like the sun, life's common things to gold. 

All that the spirit loathes around was spread ; 

Rapine and wrong the mastery had obtained ; 
His genius stood between the quick and dead. 

And "the great plague" of grossness was restrained. 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

Among the nobles charged with being the accomplices of Duke John of 
Swabia in the assassination of the usurper Albert of Austria in 1308, was the 
Baron Rudolph Vonder-Wart ; and although, as is clear from the concurring 
testimony of the Swiss historians, he had taken no part whatever in the atTair, 
he was seized by Agnes, the surviving daughter of the tyrant, and, after a 
mock trial, condemned to be broken alive upon the wheel. For three days 
and two nights did he endure, without shrinking, the fearful agony of his cruel 
mode of punishment, during the whole of which time his wife, a beautiful 
young woman of the illustrious house of Balm, kept watch beside him, regard- 
less of either food or shelter, with the most heroic firmness. On the evening 



188 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

of the third day, his frame having become exhausted by the intensity of his 
sufferings, he murmured faintly the words, " Gertrude, this is fideUty until 
death," and expired. His unhappy lady retired soon afterwards to a convent 
at Basle, where she died of a broken heart. 

'Tis morn : o'er Kyburg's castled crag day's first faint streak 

appears, 
Like the ray of Truth through Error's mists, or the smile 

through Woman's tears ; 
With gradual step it glides along, from cloud to cloud, and 

now 
Bathes in a flood of living light Mongarten's frowning brow. 

The sun looks out, the heavens are gay, the earth beneath 
them shines. 

And the fitful breeze hath ceased to toss yon broad, black sea 
of pines ; 

The storm that lately ravaged earth hath sunk into its lair, 

And left " a scene of power to charm all sadness save de- 
spair !" 

Beneath yon mountain's gloomy crest a crowd is gathering 

fast. 
To see, on murder's hellish wheel, a hero breathe his last : 
What though his quivering clay be cold before that sun hath 

set, 
Draw near, a noble lesson learn, it is not soulless yet ! 

Mangled, and bleeding at each pore, denied the bliss to die, 
Coiled 'round that dread machine he lies in fearful agony ; 
Two days exposed to sun and storm, and bleaching in the 

blast. 
Those ghastly limbs have struggled there, but this will be the 

last. 



woman's love. 189 

Not his the crime for which he writhes, not his the 'vengeful 

dart, 
Launched with unerring aim, that lodged in Albert's tyrant 

heart ; 
He would have braved him in the field, defied him in his 

might, 
Not tracked his lone, defenceless steps with felon shaft to 

smite. 

His innocence availed him not, they knew the quenchless 

hate 
He bore that despot's iron rule, and dragged him to his 

fate; 
Then stormed his undefended towers, and left of all his 

train 
Of friends or vassals, kin or kind, but ONE to soothe his 

pain. 

And not in pity was she spared from that remorseless 

slaughter, — 
'Twas but to glut the rage refined of Austria's wolfish 

daughter ; 
But ere her vengeance was complete, she glided from her 

power, 
And flew to lighten with her prayers her Rudolph's parting 

hour. 

And bending o'er her dying lord that faithful woman stands. 
With pallid cheek, dishevelled hair, and clasped, beseeching 

hands ; 
The aid denied to her on earth she craves from One above ; 
And sure, if mortal prayers avail, hers will not bootless 

prove ! 



190 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

They brained her babe before her eyes, even smiling in its 

sleep ! 
They wrenched her Rudolph from her arms, she shrieked, but 

did not weep ; 
She heard the sentence of their hate, but still she shed no 

tear ; 
They marred her beauty with their chains ; she burst them, 

and is here ! 

Awed by such more than mortal love, the ruthless slaves 

around. 
Even to the minister of death, are silent and spell-bound ; 
They dare not for their souls approach what to their wondering 

eyes 
Shows like some radiant seraph form descended from the skies. 

"Well may they deem her not of earth, for earth hath seldom 

seen 
Such holy love, such fervid faith, so suffering yet serene ; 
But when the cloud of blight descends, of darkness and despair, 
Upon the trusted head and heart, what will not Woman dare ! 

That scene is all deserted now, that martyr's pangs no more ; 
And she who soothed his parting hour, her vigil too is o'er; 
For when her last sad hope was gone, her stricken heart to 

hide. 
She sought a covert from her foes, wrenched out the dart, and 

died. 



AMIENS CATHEDRAL. 191 



AMIENS CATHEDRAL. 

"The House of God is the Home of the sorrowful." 

Anna Mabia Porter. 

The doors unfold ! I gaze with breathless thrill ; 

All that mj fancy pictured there appears ; 
Strange that stone walls should have the power to fill 

The heart with gladness, and the eje with tears : 
Like a tired child that gains its mother's breast, 
I enter in, and feel my soul at rest ! 

I might not speak, too sacred seemed the spot ; 

I could not sigh, for peace was with me then ; 
The world with all its idle cares forgot : 

Oh, were thine architects but sinful men ! 
An atmosphere of heaven seemed breathing 'round, 
Thy walls bade welcome, though without a sound. 

Silence descended like a brooding dove ; 

Pontiff, procession, all had passed away ; 
Motion was not, save that the hand of love 

Pointed from twilight to the perfect day ! 
I stilled my heart, and held my breath to hear 
Words that seemed whispering in my dreaming ear. 

' Hath love of glory taught thine heart to sigh, 

Honour's bright wreath, the thirst for high renown. 

Lured thee, from step to step, to climb on high. 
Then dashed the chalice and the votary down ? 



192 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

Foiled, crushed, and trampled spirit, draw thee near, 
A world-rejected heart is cherished here ! 

" Hath love beguiled thee with his promise fair. 
Bliss unalloyed, affection's self un chilled. 
Won thy young heart to give thee back despair, — 
A poisoned cup from sweetest flowers distilled ? 
Leave withered hopes for those that ne'er grow sere, 
A love unchangeable is promised here. 

" Gifted of nature, spendthrift of the mind, 

A golden idol is thy master-taste ; 
Let go each cherished sin, howe'er refined. 

The hidden talent, feelings run to waste : 
Dreamer, awake, shake off thy coward fear. 
Gird up thy loins, and know thy strength is here ! 

" Regretful spirit, brooding o'er the past. 

Achievements high conceived, but never won ; 
Draw near and down thy heavy burthen cast, 

Remorse for 'good received, and evil done:' 
Give passion utterance and free way the tear. 
Sorrow that worketh joy awaits thee here ! 

" Heart-broken prodigal, why stand afar ! 

This House of Refuge, is it not for thee ? 
World-spent and wearied with life's ceaseless jar. 

Shake off thy bondage, triumph, and be free : 
Welcome awaits thee, plenteous is the cheer ; 
Peace to thee, weary one, thy rest is here ! 

" Sorrowful spirit, whatsoe'er the grief 

That forged thy fetter, make that grief thy plea ; 



THE CLOSING SCENE. 193 

He Avho in suffering was the Martyr-Chief, 

Hath balm for all, whate'er the wound may be : 
A shadowy path leads to a cloudless sphere. 
But till ye gain it, know your home is here !" 



THE CLOSING SCENE. 



" Who can bring healing to her heart's despair. 
Her whole rich sum of happiness lies thure." 

Croly. 



Pale is his cheek with deep, impassioned thought, 
Save when a feverish hectic crosses it. 
Flooding its lines with crimson. From beneath 
The long, dark fringes of its drooping lid 
Flash forth the fitful glances of his eye 
With an unearthly brightness. On that lid 
The swelling brow weighs heavily, as though 
Bursting with thought for utterance too intense ! 
His lip is curled with something too of pride 
Which ill beseems the meekness and repose 
That should, at such an hour, within his heart. 
Spite of this world's vexations, be combined, 
'Tis not disdain ; for only those he loves 
Are near him now, with soft, low-whispered words 
Tendering heart-offered services, and watching. 
With fond inquietude, the couch on which 
His slender form reclines. What can it be? — 
Perchance some rooted memory of the past ; 
Some dream of injured pride that fain would Avreak 
Its force on dumb expression ; — some fierce wrong 
35 



194 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

That his young soul hath suffered unappeased : 

But thoughts like these must be dispelled before 

That soul can plume its wings to part in peace. 

And now his glance is lifted to the face 

Of one who bends above him with an air 

Of fond solicitude, and props his head, 

With her own graceful arm, until at length 

The sliding pillow is replaced ; but, ere 

His cheek may press on its uneven down, 

Her delicate hand hath smoothed it. 

Too well divineth he the voiceless woe 

That breathes in each unbidden sigh, and beams 

From her large, loving eyes ! Too well he knows 

That grief and keen anxiety for him 

Have chased the rose from her once brilliant cheek. 

His quivering lips unclose, as if to pour 

The fond acknowledgments of duteous love 

In that sweet mourner's ear ; but his parched tongue 

Its aid refuses. Gathering then each ray, 

Each vivid ray, of feeling from his heart 

Into a single focus, in his eye 

His inmost soul is glassed, and love, deep love. 

And grateful admiration, beam confessed 

In one wild, passionate glance ! The gentle girl 

Basks her awhile in that full blaze, then stoops, 

And, hiding' her pale face upon his breast, 

Murmurs sounds inarticulate but sweet 

As the low wail of summer's evening breath 

Amid the wind-harp strings. Then bursts the tide 

Of woe that may no longer be repressed. 

Stirred from its source by chill, hope-withering fears, 

And from her charged lids big drops descend 

In swift succession. With more tremulous hand 



ON REVISITING A SCENE OF EARLY LIFE. IDf) 

Clasps she the sufferer's neck. Upon his brow 

The damps of death are settling, and his eyes 

Grow fixed and meaningless. She marks the change 

With desperate earnestness ; and staying even 

Her breath, that nothing may disturb the hush, 

Lays her wan cheek still closer to his heart, 

And listens, as its varying pulses move. 

Haply to catch a sound betokening life. 

It beats — again — another — and another, — 

And now hath ceased for ever ! What a shriek, 

A shrill and soul-appalling shriek bursts forth, 

When the full truth hath rushed upon her brain ! 

Who may describe the rigidness of frame, 

The stony look of hopeless misery 

With which she hangs o'er that unmoving clay ! 

Not I ; my pencil hath no further power. 

So here I'll drop the Grecian painter's veil ! 



ON REVISITING A SCENE OF EARLY LIFE. 



■ It is the same clear dazzling scene, 
Perhaps the grass is scarce as green; 
Perhaps the river's troubled voice, 
Does not so plainly say 'Rejoice.' " 
W.B.Procter. 



Sweet pastoral Vale ! when hope was young. 
And life looked green and bright as thou, 

Ere this world's toils or cares had flung 
A shade of sadness on my brow, — 

A loiterer in thy sylvan bowers, 

I whiled away uncounted hours. 



196 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

And by thine own sequestered stream 
Poured forth in song love's first, wild dream 



5 



Bright River, as it lapsed along 

In glory, on its winding way, 
Like Youth's first hopes, rejoicing, st/ong, 

And full of heaven's own hues as they, — 
I little thought that storms would fling 
Their shadows o'er so fair a thing ; 
Or that mi/ course would ever be 

Less calm than then it seemed to me. 

I came when wintry winds were high. 

And storms were hurtling in the air ; 
Thy river rushed a torrent by, 

Thy skies were dim, thy trees were bare ; 
And that lone ruin erst that rose 
An emblem of thy charmed repose, 
Seemed struggling with the fitful blast, 
Like some gaunt spectre of the Past. 

A change was in my aching breast. 
As dark as that I found in thee ; 
Thoughts, as thy waves impetuous, pressed 

O'er my sad soul tumultuously. 
As gazing on that altered scene, 
I thought of what we both had been : 
I see thee calm and fair once more ; 
When will my stormier day be o'er ? 

And thou art now a fairy dream 

To stir the source of sweetest tears ; 

Thy sun-touched fane, and sparkling stream, 
My beacon-lights to other years : 



ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 197 

Oh, might my world-worn spirit close 
Its weary pinions in repose, 
I would not ask more perfect bliss 
Than such a resting-place as this ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 



' Sweet flower ! with flowers I strew thy narrow betl 1 
Sweets to the sweet. Farewell I" 

Shakspeaee. 



A CLOUD is on my heart and brow, 

The tears are in my eyes, 
And wishes fond,, all idle now. 

Are stifled into sighs ; — 
As musing on thine early doom. 
The bud of beauty snatched to bloom, 

So soon, 'neath milder skies, 
I turn, thy painful struggle past. 
From what thou art to what thou wast ! 

I think of all thy winning ways, 
Thy frank but boisterous glee. 
Thy arch, sweet smiles, thy coy delays, 

Thy step, so light and free ; 
Thy sparkling glance, and hasty run. 
Thy gladness, when the task was done. 

And gained thy mother's knee ; — 
Thy gay, good-humoured, childish ease. 
And all thy thousand arts to please ! 



198 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 

Where are tliey now, and where, oh where, 

The eager, fond caress, 
The blooming cheek so fresh and fah% 

The lips all sought to press ? 
The open brow and laughing eye. 
The heart that leaped so joyously ? 

Ah, had we loved them less ! 
Yet there are thoughts can bring relief, 
And sweeten even this cup of grief. 

Thou hast escaped a thorny scene, 

A wilderness of woe. 
Where many a blast of anguish keen 

Had taught thy tears to flow ; 
Perchance some wild and withering grief 
Had sered thy summer's earliest leaf. 

In these dark bowers below. 
Or sickening thrills of hope deferred. 
To strife thy gentlest thoughts had stirred ! 

Thou hast escaped life's fitful sea 

Before the storm arose. 
Whilst yet its gliding waves were free 

From aught that marred repose ; 
Safe from the thousand throes of pain. 
Ere sin or sorrow breathed a stain 

Upon thine opening rose ; — 
And who can calmly think of this. 
Nor envy thee thy doom of bliss ? 

I culled from home's beloved bowers 
To deck thy last long sleep, 

The brightest hued, most fragrant floAvers 
That summer's dews may steep : 



EGYPT UNVISITED. 199 

The rosebud, emblem meet, was there, 
The violet blue, and jasmine fair, 

That drooping seemed to weep ; — 
And now I add this lowlier spell : — 
Sweets to the passing sweet, farewell ! 



EGYPT UNVISITED. 

SUGGESTEB BY MR. DAVID ROBEUTS'S EGYPTIAN SKETCHES. 

The poetry of earth is fading fast ; 

It hath no region it can call its own ; 
The dim religious light of old that cast 

Mysterious beauty on its haunts hath flown ! 

Science, with eye of microscopic power, 

And disenchanting lamp, from land to land, 

"With railroad speed continues still to scour, 
Till scarce a spot on earth remains unscanned. 

Even the vast Pyramid hath now become 

A thing whose secrets all are known too well ; 

The Harp of Memnon is for ever dumb ; 

And even the Sphinx hath nothing left to tell ; 

The Nile, so long a river of the heart. 
Hath now no mystic problem to unveil ; 

And its drear desert, once a thing apart 

From common roads, we soon may cross by rail ! 



200 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

No green oasis now enchants the eye, 

With its tall palms and fountains bubbling o'er ; 

The desert ship we loved in days gone by, 
Is but a camel now, " and nothing more !" 

Then why through Egypt should I seek to roam, 
Fancy to feed with scenes that will but mock it ; 

With graphic Roberts for my guide (at home). 

And Murray's trusty "Hand-Book" in my pocket. 



THE AVALANCHE. 

'Tis Night ; and Silence with unmoving wings 
Broods o'er the sleeping waters ; — not a sound 
Breaks its most breathless hush. The sweet moon flings 
Her pallid lustre on the hills around, 
Turning the snows and ices that have crowned, 
Since Chaos reigned, each vast, untrodden height, 
To beryl, pearl, and silver ; — whilst, profound. 
In the calm, waveless lake, reflected bright, 
And girt with arrowy rays, rests her full orb of light. 

The eternal mountains momently are peering 
Through the dark clouds that mantle them; on high 
Their glittering crests majestically rearing, 
More like to children of the infinite sky, 
Than of the daedal earth. Triumphantly, 
Prince of the whirlwind. Monarch of the scene. 
Mightiest where all are mighty ; from the eye 
Of mortal man half hidden by the screen 
Of mists that veil his base from Arve's dark, deep ravine, 



THE AVALANCHE. 201 

Stands the magnificent Montblanc ; his brow 
Scarred with innumerous thunders ; — most sublime, 
Even as though risen from the world below 
To mark the progress of Decay ; bj clime, 
Storm, blight, fire, earthquake, lessened not ; like Time, 
Stern chronicler of centuries gone by, 
Doomed by a heavenly fiat still to climb, 
Swell and increase with years incessantly. 
Then yield at length to thee, most dread Eternity ! 

Hark ! there are sounds of tumult and commotion 
Hurtling in murmurs on the distant air, 
Like the wild music of a wind-lashed ocean ; — 
They rage, they gather now ; yon valley fair 
Still sleeps in moon-bright loveliness, but there 
Methinks a form of horror I behold 
With giant-stride descending ! 'Tis Despair, 
Riding the rushing Avalanche ; now rolled 
From yon steep slope — by whom — what mortal may unfold ? 

Perchance a breath from fervid Italy 
Unloosed the air-hung thunderer ; or the tone 
Poured from some hunter's horn ; or, it may be. 
The echoes of the mountain cataract, thrown 
Amid its voiceful snows, have thus called down 
The overwhelming ruin on the vale. 
Howbeit a mystery to man unknown, 
'Twas but some unseen power that did prevail, 
For an inscrutable end, its slumbers to assail. 

Madly it bursts along, like a broad river 
That gathers strength in its most fierce career ; 
The black and lofty pines a moment quiver 
Before its breath, but, as it draws more near, 
36 



202 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

Crash — and are seen no more. Fleet-footed Fear, 
Pale as that white-robed minister of wrath, 
In silent wilderment her face doth rear, 
And, having gazed upon its blight and scathe. 
Flies with the swift chamois from its death-dooming path ! 



TO POESY. 

" Poesy 1 vhou svveet'st content 
That e'er Heaven to mortals lent, 
Though for thy sake I am crossed, 
Though my best hopes I have lost, 
And I knew lhou"dst make my trouble 
Ten times more than ten times double, 
I should love and keep thee too, 
Spite of all the world could do. 
Though thou be to them a scorn 
That to nought but earth are born ; 
Let my life no longer be, 
Than I am in love with thee !" 

Wither. 

I ALWAYS loved thee, gentle Poesy ! 

And though thou oft hast served to work me woe, 

Do love thee still ; — nurtured beneath thine eye, 

" For me the meanest, simplest flowers that bloAV, 

Have often thoughts that lie too deep for tears." 

Not all the joys the multitude can knoAV, 

Should e'er seduce my bosom to forego 

Thy sacred influence : yet from earliest years, 

Like that frail plant whose shrinking leaves betray 

The careless pressure of an idle hand. 

My heart, unschooled in guile, could ne'er command 

Its hectics of the moment : — let thy ray, 

Then, thou sweet source of sorrow and delight. 

Beam on thy votary's soul with more attempered light. 



THE HOME OF TALIESSIX. 203 



THE HOME OF TALIESSIN. 

The remains, consisting of little more than the foundation-stones, of the 
dwelling of the celebrated Welsh bard Taliessin, are still pointed out in a 
roinantic gorge of the mountains near Llanrwyst, at no great distance from 
the Druid waves of Llynn Geirionedd. The view which is commanded 
from this spot is one of the most picturesque that can be imagined. 

I STOOD on the spot where the famed Taliessin, 

" The Prince of the Bards," had his dwelling of old ; 

Sad thoughts on my memory, unbidden, were pressing. 
Of hopes wildly thwarted, and friendships grown cold ! 

Eve was yielding to twilight ; yet still richly glowing, 
The deep skies reflected the sun that had fled ; 

And below me, in musical murmurs, were flowing 
The bright purple waters of Llynn Geirionedd. 

I looked on the mighty hills gathered around it, — 

Like Titans they stood, with their cloud-girded brows : 

And I thought of the minstrel whose genius had crowned it, 
As I gazed on their summits of shadows and snows. 

I called on his name who had roused from her slumbers 
Sweet Echo, how oft, in her deep-hidden lair ; 

I asked, where, and oh where, breathes he now his wild 
numbers ? 
And the mountains around answered, where, and oh where ? 



204 LYRICS OE THE HEART, 

Years have fleeted since then ; — but in sickness and sadness, 
As I muse on the hopes that once promised so fair, 

I ask, where, and oh. where, are those visions of gladness ? 
And my bosom's deep cell echoes, where, and oh where ? 



I WILL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE ! 

I WILL never love thee more. 

Though I loved thee once so well ; 
Why, a prodigal, the store 

Of my bosom's inmost cell, 
Should I waste on one who ne'er 

Won a truthful heart before ; 
Let wbo will thy favours share, 

I will never love thee more ! 

I will never love thee more ! 

Wherefore to an idol bow, 
Why a deity adore, 

Heartless, hollow, cold as thou ! 
Fools the facile smiles may win. 

That 't was mine to win of yore ; 
Worship misapplied, is sin; 

I will never love thee more ! 

I will never love thee more, 

Though I loved thee once so well : 

Love's illusion now is o'er, 

Take, then, take my last farewell ! 



A LAMENT FOR THE FAIRIES. 205 

Should thy practised wiles again 

Touch some truthful bosom's core, 
Be the thought not stirred in vain, 

Why I ne'er can love thee more ! 



A LAMENT FOR THE FAIRIES. 

" O, ye have lost, 
Mountains and moors, and meads, the radiant throng 
That peopled your green solitudes and iilled 
The air, the fields, with beauty and with joy 
Intense ; with a rich mystery that awed 
The mind, and flung around a thousand hearths 
Divinest tales, that through the enchanted year 
Found passionate listeners I" 

C.VREIXSTOX. 

Beautiful fictions of our trusting youth, 

(Visions we sigh that we have only dreamed !) 

When Fancy mocked the searching gaze of Trutli, 

And the whole earth with bright enchantments teemed ; 

How have we loved to forest glades to flee ; 

By haunted streams (in thought) to take our stand ; 
To watch you circling round the greenwood tree, 

Or trace your gambols on the moonlit strand ! 

Or, when in gorgeous panoply arrayed. 
To grace some pageant of the Elfin Queen, 

You pricked along, a gallant cavalcade. 
Painting the verdant turf a livelier green ! 

Nor less we loved you, Avhen, with pitying air. 
And hand beneficent, around you showered 



206 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

Gifts, miglit the world's and nature's spite repair, 
And leave the homeliest maiden doubly dowered ! 

But the bright realm of Fairyland is gone ; 

Its Iris-tinted train hath passed away ; 
And Ariel, Mab, Titania, Oberon, 

But grace the painter's scene, or poet's lay ! 

Even Puck, dear imp of mischief and of mirth, 

" O'er hill and dale," at length hath ceased to range ; 

Though long-eared Bottoms cumber still the earth. 
Whose " asses' nowls" he is not here to change ! 

The "Sword of Sharpness" is no longer keen; 

The " Seven League Boots" we distance, now, at will ; 
Our sole surviving " Giant" is the Spleen ; 

Which we, like David, with a stone can kill !* 

No more, no more, upon the velvet mead. 

On mushroom tables, are your banquets spread ; 

No more, with flying feet, the dance you speed, 
'Till dimming glow-worms hint 'tis time for bed ! 

No "fairy favours" now reward the fair; 

Nor pearls nor diamonds from her lips are told ; 
No elfin matron makes her bliss her care. 

With purse exhaustless, filled with fairy gold ! 

Your aid unseen, like angel-help, in vain. 

The toil-worn hind may, in his strait, implore ; 

The "shadowy flail," to ease his task, will rain 
Its stalwart blows in his behoof no more ! 

* Fling but a stone the Giant dies ! — Grebn"s Spleen. 



A LAMENT FOR THE FAIRIES. 207 

Virtue no longer, in her sorest needs, 

B J fairy hands is rescued from her thrall ; 

And rampant Vice, how dark soe'er his deeds, 

Your well-earned frowns may now no more appal ! 

The superstitions sweet that charmed our youth ; 

The large belief that bade us still dream on ; 
The dear illusions we mistook for truth ; 

The shaping power that gave them grace ; — are flown ! 

With grosser forms this nether earth is rife ; 

Even Fancy, now, must walk in Reason's guise ; 
And, in a world of real care and strife, 

We grow, alas, far sadder if more wise ! 

There is no love in this material age. 

For shapes impalpable, we cannot clutch ; 

Knowledge hath spread so wide her ample page. 
That, for our bliss, we often learn too much ! 

The broad, fierce glare of her pervading light. 

Is too intense for forms all fancy-born ; 
That owe mysterious beauty to the night, 

But melt beneath the earliest rays of morn ; 

Yet these fair fictions of our youthful day. 

We have but changed for guides less kind and bland ; 

The glittering cheats that lead us now astray. 
Are falser far than those of Fairyland ! 

Love, Friendship, Hope, Ambition, Glory, Pride, 

All, ignis-fatuus-like, by turns, invite ; 
But Avhen we follow, make a circuit Avide, 

Where fields are dank, and there withdraw their light. 



208 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Though Poets still, as they were wont of yore, 
With filial love to fairy legends cling ; 

The charm is half dispelled, and they no more 
Believe the magic wonders that they sing. 

Yet, till the Muse from earth is driven away, 

And young Romance hath broken, too, her wand, 

Will elfin lore still grace the Poet's lay. 

And his heart's home be still in Fairyland ! 



NAPOLEON'S DREAM. 

It was the dead midnight ; 

No star was in the sky ; 
The struggling moon shed a troubled light 

As she won her way on high ; 

And deepest silence hung. 

Like a garment, o'er the land I 

When a loud and shrill reveille rung 
From a grisly drummer's hand ! 

It rolled through the startled space. 

That wild, unearthly sound ; 
'Till the martyred dead of a doomed race. 

Uprose, and crowded 'round ! 

From the sleeping City near ; 

From the bright and genial South ; 
From the sands of Egypt's deserts drear ; 

From the Danube's stormy mouth ; 



napoleon's dream. 209 

From the ice-realms of the North ; 

From devoted Moscow's plain ; 
Burst the might of armed myriads forth 

To that stirring call again ! 

From the depths of Lybian seas ; 

From the Tyrol's mountains blue ; 
From the base of the snowy Pyrenees ; 

From the deadly Waterloo ! 

For, many a far-off land, 

And many a wandering wave, 
Had heard that loud and stern command, 

And had yielded up its brave ! 

A trumpet-peal is blown ; 

Those scattered hosts combine ; 
And the soldier-slaves of the Iron Crown 

Arise, and make their sign. 

On shadowy chargers mounted, 

With swords uplif ':ed high. 
From battle-fields uncounted, 

The Imperial Guards draw nigh; — 

A legion old and hoary, 

With cheeks all ghastly white ; 
With bosoms gashed and gory, 

But Eagles golden bright ; 

They raise their pallid brows, 

In the wan moon's sickly glare ; — 
But, vain the once-loved sight to rouse 

Napoleon's deep despair ! 
37 



210 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

Still the Drummer by his side 

Plies his bleached and fleshless arm ; 

Till, surging on like the ocean tide, 
Those grisly spectres swarm ! 

They shout no vivats now. 

For the chieftain once so dear ; 

For curses deep, though murmured low. 
Alone salute his ear. 

Ha ! whence that phantom throng 

That file before him now. 
And drag their maimed limbs along 

So painfully and slow ! 

From Jaffa's burning plain 

Those shadowy forms have wended ; 

With cool and sordid treachery slain. 
When the battle-strife had ended. 

He shuts his conscious eyes. 
Their shrinking sense to save ; 

But a darker scene within them lies ; 
'Tis the gallant Enghein's grave ! 

The torches glare around 

Where the dauntless Bourbon kneels, 

In the castle fosse, on the damp, chill ground, 
As the murderous volley peals ! 

The muffled drum tolls out 
The youthful hero's knell : — 



napoleon's dream. 211 

Napoleon starts, 'tis the battle shout, 
And the roll of the shrill reveil ! 

Myriads before him spread, 

Their standards rear on high ; 
But the flags are white as the charnelled dead. 

For the grave hath the victory ! 

He strains his sight to look 

Beyond that shadowy train ; 
What doth he see but a barren rock, 

A vulture, and a chain ! 

The drum hath ceased to roll ; 

That despot's dreams are o'er ; 
And the ebbs and flows of his stormy soul 

Are stayed for evermore ! 

His empires all are gone ; 

His trappings, once so proud ; 
A rock-bound grave is his only throne. 

And his kingly robe a shroud : 

And he, whose dread commands 

To millions once were doom. 
Hath claimed, at length, from alien hands, 

A lone, unhonoured tomb. 



212 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES. 

" visions of childliood ! oft have ye beguiled 
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs; 
Ah! that once more I were a careless child !" 

Coleridge. 

Thrice happy Babe ! what radiant dreams are thine, 
As thus thou bidd'st thine air-born bubbles soar ; — ^ 

Who would not Wisdom's choicest gifts resign 
To be, like thee, a careless child, once more. 

To share thy simple sports, and sinless glee ; 

Thy breathless wonder, thy unfeigned delight, 
As, one by one, those sun-touched glories flee, 

In swift succession, from thy straining sight ! 

To feel a power within himself to make. 
Like thee, a rainbow whereso'er he goes ; 

To dream of sunshine, and like thee to 'wake 
To brighter visions, from his charmed repose. 

Who would not give his all of worldly lore, — 

The hard-earned fruits of many a toil and care, — 

Might he but thus the faded past restore. 

Thy guileless thoughts and blissful ignorance share. 

Yet Life hath bubbles too, that soothe awhile 
The sterner dreams of man's maturer years ; 

Love — Friendship — Fortune — Fame — by turns beguile, 
But melt, 'neath Truth's Ithuriel-touch, to tears. 



THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT. 213 

Thrice happy Child ! a brighter lot is thine ; 

(What new illusion e'er can match the first ?) 
We mourn to see each cherished hope decline ; 

Till/ mirth is loudest when thy bubbles burst. 



THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT. 

ON HEARING IT ASSERTED THAT THE AGE OF POETRY, LIKE THAT OF 
CHIVALRY, WAS GONE. 

"Blessings be with thein, and eternal praise, 
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares. 
The Poets; — who on earth have made us heirs 
Of Truth and pure delight by heavenly lays I" 

Wordsworth. 

It is not true, it cannot be, 

That the love of Song is o'er ; 
Though the mightier masters of the Lyre 

May wake their harps no more : 
Though cold are now their tuneful lips, 

To us shall still belong 
A heritage of priceless gifts. 

Bequeathed in deathless Song ! 

Did love of country die with them ; 

Pride in our Island birth ; 
Or Honour to the dust go down. 

When they returned to earth ? 
Did the heart's best ajQFections cease. 

When they resigned their breath ? 
Were Love, Hope, Loyalty, and Faith, 

Extinguished by their death ? 



214 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

No ; in immortal verse embalmed, 

Preserved from blight and chill, 
Each loftier impulse of our being 

Survives to bless us still : 
Love, that from earth can never fade 

Each inspiration high. 
That teaches us the way to live. 

And tells us how to die ! 

Come, Mariners of England, forth, 

Ye of the dauntless soul, 
Who bear our conquering flag aloft. 

From Pole to farthest Pole ! 
Ho ! Soldiers of a hundred fights, — 

A household word each name, — 
Come forth, and battle for the Muse 

That imps so oft your fame ! 

Spirits of that devoted Band, 

On earth beheld no more, 
Old England's Chivalry that led 

On sea and land of yore ; 
Answer from out your storied tombs 

And shield the Muse from wrong ; 
Are not departed heroes' deeds 

Recorded best in Song ? 

Saints militant ! who fought so oft 
'Gainst man's most stubborn foe ; 

And won ye crowns, more radiant far 
Than earth could e'er bestow ; 

In your Great Captain's steps who trod, 
No hope forlorn your fight. 



THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT. 215 

And suffered bondage, stripes, and death, 
To testify His might ; 

Ye noble band of Martyrs, who, 

In God's "whole armour" mailed, — 
The shining panoply of Faith, — 

O'er Sin and Death prevailed ; 
Hath not the Muse, with pious care. 

Your glorious triumphs sung, 
Till your heroic deeds have grown 

The theme of every tongue ! 

Champions of Freedom ! who have shunned 

The ignis fatuus ray, 
That mocks her sacred light, and leads 

Even noblest hearts astray ; 
Ye, who her beacon fires have fed, 

Her "meteor flag" unfurled, — 
And stayed the haughty despot's stride 

Across a vassal world ; — 

Who joy the trampled heart to raise. 

Unloose the captive's chain. 
And Liberty's heaven-chartered rights 

To strengthen and maintain : 
Prompt in the council as the field. 

The weak to ward from wrong ; 
Was not your noblest daring learned 

From the trumpet-voice of Song ? 

Heralds of Peace ! still toiling on 

To give the heathen light ; 
Ye who would compass sea and land 

To gain one proselyte ; — 



216 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

Have ye not raised the feeble up, 
And bowed to earth the strong, 

As, Moses like, ye struck the heart 
With the charmed wand of Song ! 

Mourners ! how deep soe'er the griefs 

That weigh your spirit down ; 
A hearth made desolate and dark 

By Fortune's angriest frown ; 
The death of some long-cherished friend, 

When friends, alas ! are few ; 
The wild estrangement of a heart 

You once believed so true : 

Though Sorrows "in battalions" come. 

With which 'tis hard to cope. 
And the sad soul, beleaguered 'round, 

Hath nothing left but Hope ; 
What spell can lull the tempest's rage, 

Appease the spirit's wrong. 
Like the precepts of the Poet's page. 

The solace of his Song ! 

Philosophers ! so keen of sight, 

Inquisitive, and, oh ! 
So wise, men marvel how your heads 

Can carry all you know ; 
Who dim each impulse of delight, 

By diving to its cause ; 
And will not give us leave to feel 

Save by your latest laws ; 

Still peer among the stars to find 
Some planet yet unknown ; 



THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT. 217 

But leave that world the human heart, 

And its mystic chords alone ! 
Rob not the Poet of the right 

He hath maintained so long ; 
The realms of earth and sky be yours, 

But leave him those of Song ! 

Votaries of Science ! whose exploits 

The world with wonder fill, 
Who faster than the wind can speed 

The mandates of your will ; 
Cross not the Poet's woodland path. 

He never did you wrong ; 
Harvests of wisdom still go reap, 

But leave to earth its Sons; ! 

Ye Mammon-worshippers ! forbear 

To vent on Song your spleen ; 
Pactolus is your cherished fount. 

Your only Hippocrene ! 
The Golden Age of Peace and Love, 

By poets hymned of old, 
Would have no charm for such as you, 

Who crave an Age of Gold ! 

Still to your Baal bend the knee, 

Your sordid homage pay. 
Till the base idol topples down, 

And proves but worthless clay ! 
For you the minstrel's tuneful art 

Were ever plied in vain. 
Who centre every thought in self. 

Whose only God is gain ! 



218 LYRICS OF THE HEAET. 

He hath no wisdom in the lore 

With which your hearts are filled ; 
A novice in the Halls of Pride ; 

In the world's ways, a child ! 
Suffering, the hadge of all his tribe, 

Is his, neglect and wrong, 
And Sorrow teaches him, too oft. 

The burthen of his Song ! 

Yet from that dark and bitter spring. 

Like Marah's fount of yore, 
Flows many a sweet and healing draught, 

For thirsting hearts and sore ; 
And proud and thrilling strains had slept. 

That now to earth belong, 
Had not the kindling touch of grief 

Prompted so oft the Song ! 

When he, the well-beloved of Heaven, 

The monarch-minstrel sung. 
Truths, that come home to every breast. 

Resound from every tongue ; 
Oppressed, by "trouble" compassed round, 

And foes, in falsehood strong, 
The sorrows that subdued his heart. 

But sanctified his Song ! 

The love of Song can never fade. 
Whilst gentle hearts are rife. 

To feel the sunshine and the balm. 
It sheds on human life ! 

Whilst Youth, fond, warm, ingenuous youth, 
In faith and hope so strong. 



THE LOVE OF POETRY NOT EXTINCT. 219 

Finds his heart echo to its tones. 
Can he choose but love the song ? 

" Earth's Poesy is never dead," 

'Tis breathing everywhere. 
In the starlight stillness of the night, 

In the bright, warm, noontide air ; 
The grassy glade, the waving wood, 

The broad, upheaving sea ; 
The intermittent flash and roar 

Of Heaven's artillery ; 

The mountain-tops by sunshine crowned, 

Whilst girt by clouds below ; 
The twin-notes of the cuckoo's shout, 

The summer twilight's glow ; 
The corn that sways with every breeze ; 

The river smooth yet strong. 
That glides like life away ; all, all 

Are redolent of Song. 

It is not sooth, it cannot be. 

That the love of Song is o'er ! 
That the strains that were our childhood's spell, 

May charm our sons no more ! 
Till Fancy fades, and Hope grows chill. 

And Pity's self hath fled, 
The love of Poesy can ne'er 

In British hearts be dead. 



Then, " blessings on the sons of Song, 
Eternal praise be theirs, 



220 LYRICS or THE HEART. 

Who gave us truth and pure delight," 
And "nobler loves and cares." 

And the " still, small voice of Gratitude" 
Must cease for aye on earth, 

Ere we forget, or cease to prize, 
Their wisdom and their worth. 



THE LIGHTHOUSE. 

Yes, Desolation on her viewless wing. 

Even now, perhaps, is speeding with the blast 

In deathful haste ; — with angry visiting 

The surges sweep around us, and the mast. 

Bereft of sail, bends like a fragile reed 

Submissive to the storm. But for yon light 

I had begun to deem this dreary night. 

For us, would have no morn. In greatest need, 

When through life's sea man's erring bark is driven, 

Thus doth the beacon Hope with friendly gleam 

Speak peace unto his soul ; and though its beam 

Bring not immediate aid, it can create 

Courage to bear the buffetings of Fate 

With patience, till he reach the sheltering port of Heaven. 



RHINE SONG. 221 



RHINE SONG. 

It was from the heights above Caub (opposite to the Pfalfz), that the view of 
the Rhine first burst upon the Prussian troops, on their victorious return from 
France, and drew from them a simuhaneous and exuhing shout of " Tlie 
Rhine! the Rhine!" which was repeated as each division came in sight of the 
river. They subsequently knelt down, and sung, as with one heart and voice, 
their national song, " Am Rhein, Am Rhein !" 

It is the Rhine, our own abounding river ! 

To home-sick hearts a vision half divine ! 
Its rapid current swiftly flows as ever ; 

It is the Rhine ! be blessings on the Rhine ! 

It is the Rhine, with duteous homage kneeling, 
In one wild burst let heart and voice combine, 

To swell our prayerful song, to heaven appealing ; 
The Rhine ! the Rhine ! be blessings on the Rhine ! 

It is the Rhine, our own imperial river ; 

HoAv brightly still its rippling waters shine ; — 
Hark to the shout that makes the tall pines quiver ! 

The Rhine ! the Rhine ! be blessings on the Rhine ! 

It is the Rhine that laves our fatherland 

(The seat of all we love, fair Freedom's shrine) ; 

Above its haunted depths once more we stand ; 
It is the Rhine ! be blessings on the Rhine ! 

Broken and spent, from battle-fields returning. 
Our haven won, we will no more repine ; 



222. LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

We left its banks for fame and conquest burning ; 

Our goal, at length, is gained : the Rhine ! the Rhine ! 

River of many hearts ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Glorj and Freedom once again are thine ! 
Echo each storied height, with trumpet voice, 

The Rhine ! the Rhine ! be blessings on the Rhine ! 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK PAGE OF THE 
POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 

High Priest of the Nine ! Poet, Prophet, and Sage, 
What deep lessons of wisdom are taught in thy page ! — 
There the young and the old, sad and mirthful, may find 
Each, reflected in sunshine, some "mood of his mind ;" 
There, the simple may learn with kind feelings to glow. 
And the wise may discover how little they know ! 
There, the broken in spirit may find solace and balm. 
And the tempest-tossed bosom be taught to grow calm ; 
The rich, there are treasures that gold cannot buy ; 
The poor, that there is but one rank in the sky ; 
The guileless, their whiteness of spirit to keep ; 
And the guilty, that vengeance not always will sleep ! 
There the gentle enthusiast whose heart hath been sown 
With pure poesy's seeds, some soft feeling may own. 
Some loved dream, in his heart cherished fondly and long. 
That he wanted the science to weave into song ! 
There, the Pilgrim of Nature in fancy may stray. 
Where thy silver-bright Duddon glides calmly aAvay, 



I've roamed the wide avorld over. 223 

Bj its flower-fringed margin its wanderings to trace, 
Till his thoughts are as placid and pure as its face : 
There the Dreamer who tracks the swift footsteps of Time, 
And for ever would muse 'mid his ruins sublime, 
Who delights to the deeds of past ages to turn. 
Will find lore that his spirit has thirsted to learn : 
From the song of proud Dion, so solemn and sweet, 
To thy "silver-white" Doe and her Sabbath retreat ! 
Each high theme of the Lyre hath awoke at thy call, 
Every chord hast thou touched, and drawn music from all ! 



I'VE ROAMED THE WIDE WORLD OVER. 

I've roamed the wide world over. 

From Indus to the Pole ; 
I've been a general lover. 

And loved Avith all my soul ; 
Whate'er her height, hair dark or light, 

Confined or flowing free ; 
Eyes, azure bright or black as night, 

'Twas all the same to me. 

Whatever flowers are springing. 

My bosom's tares above, 
Whatever thoughts are clinging 

To my heart of peace and love, — 
Were planted there by Woman's care. 

And nurtured 'neath her eye : 
To her I clung, when life Avas young ; 

Be hers my latest sigh ! 



224 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

In our hours of pain and sorrow, 

No balm is like her tear ; 
Even our joys more sweetness borrow, 

When she we love is near ! 
Then fill me up a brimming cup, 

To drink to Woman's worth ; 
And may she prove in heaven above, 

The bliss she makes on earth ! 



A WOMAN'S LAST SONG. 

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED ROMANCE. 

'TiS now that softening hour 

When love hath deepest power, 
To stir the fond heart with its dreams of delight ; 

When even the sickening thrill 

Of hope deferred is still. 
And the sunset of feeling grows golden and bright. 

Oh believe me then in this. 

Though, in moments of bliss, 
Every pulse of thy heart found a response in mine 

When the storm upon us came, 

I may merit thy blame. 
But, so sweet was our sorrow, I could not repine. 

Forgive me if I deemed 
Fate kinder than it seemed, 
If I smiled at the world and its wildest alarms ; 



A woman's last song. 225 

If I inly blessed the grief 
That bade thee seek relief 
In the loving and cherishing pale of my arms. 

Was loss of wealth severe 

When a fond one was near 
To soothe thee, and make thee a Croesus in love ? 

Or vexations all must bear, 

Worth a thought or a care. 
Which a kiss, and thou'st owned it, a kiss could remove ? 

What are life's petty ills. 

Its hectics or its chills, 
Can they weaken affection or wither its flowers ? 

No ; to hearts with feeling warm. 

Love's the bow of the storm, 
That grows broader and brighter the faster it showers. 

Thus will it ever be. 

On the world's troubled sea, 
When two fond ones are cleaving in concert their way ; 

Though clouds sometimes may hide 

Them, and tempests divide, 
They'll be nearer than e'er when the rack drives away. 

In life's genial spring, 

As on Pleasure's light wing 
Through her bowers of enchantment we joyously roved ; 

With feelings, hopes, and fears, 

Far too deep for our years, 
In that spring-burst of sunshine we met and we loved ! 

39 



226 LYRICS OP THE HEART. 

Thou wert then of an age 
When the stormy passions rage 

More wildly the harsher earth's wise ones reprove ; 
Pride and gentleness combined, 
In thy deep heart were shrined ; 

The softness and fire of the eagle and dove ! 

Though Fortune was unkind, 

To thy merits ever blind, 
Still thy soul could unstooping her malice endure ; 

And what though thou wert thrown 

On this wide world alone. 
Did I love thee the less for being friendless and poor ? 

What is wealth, what is wealth, 

Could it purchase me health. 
Or secure for us moments more blissful than those 

We together oft have passed, 

When even Fate's chilling blast 
Could not ruffle our own little heaven of repose ! 

Surely not, surely not ; 

Every grief was forgot. 
Whilst enfolded by thee on thy bosom I hung ; 

And though tempests raged above, 

They were harmless to love, 
For the wilder the ruin the closer we clung. 

But the sun has looked his last, 

And the day is fading fast, 
And night's shades are o'erwhelming my heart and my song 

Fare thee well, a long farewell ; 

I have broken the spell 
That has bound me to earth and its witcheries too long ! 



A REMONSTRANCE TO CAMPBELL. 227 



INSCRIPTION. 

Stranger ! if from the crowded walks of life 
Thou lovest to stray, and avoo fair Solitude 
Amid her woodland bowers ; — silent to brood, 
Apart from the world's vanities and strife, 
O'er Nature's charms, her fairest haunts behold, 
Let this sweet spot thy roving steps arrest ! 
Say, dwells the canker Care within thy breast ? 
Yon streamlet, murmuring o'er its sands of gold. 
Shall soothe thee with soft music ; and thine eye, — 
Albeit unused to glisten with delight, — 
Survey the scene here opening on thy sight, 
With raptured gaze ! — Oh, if beneath the sky. 
Stranger, to mortal man such home be given, 
What may he hope, whose eye is fixed on Heaven ! 



A REMONSTRANCE TO CAMPBELL, 

ox HIS PROPOSING TO TAKE UP HIS PERMANENT RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 

Dear Poet of Hope ! who hast charmed us so long 
With thy strains of home-music, sweet, solemn, and strong ; 
Now, smooth as the stream when 'tis chained and at rest. 
And the hues of the sky lie like flowers on its breast, — 



228 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

Now sweeping in glory and might on its way, 

And now struggling from shadows and darkness to day. 

Oh, leave not the haunts most propitious to song. 

For the city's wild strife and the jar of the throng ! — 

Though the freshness of feeling that prompted in youth 

Thy heart-stirring measures hath died ; and the truth 

That is shrined in the soul when life's voyage is begun, 

May be something impaired ere the haven be won ; 

Though the visions have fled that gave light to thy spring, 

And thy heart and thy harp each is wanting a string ; 

Like the leaves on the tree that no tempest may kill. 

There are feelings unwithered that cling to thee still ! 

Alas, that a poet, so gifted, should leave 

Life's green vale of repose, 'mid the many to weave 

Lays that cannot but breathe of the source whence they spring 

How unlike the wild wood-notes he once used to sing ! 

What marvel his Muse's strong pinion should sink. 

If so turbid the waters her spirit must drink ; 

Can we wonder her plumage should lose its proud dyes, 

If she trails on the earth what was formed for the skies ! 

No ; the Poet's a star that shines brightest apart ; 

Let him revel at will in the Avorld of the heart. 

But the moment he strives 'mid the crush of the throng, 

Like a bird too much handled he loses his song ; 

And the fools who once worshipped his light from afar. 

Are the first to proclaim him no longer a star ! 



A CHRISTMAS SONG. 229 



A CHRISTMAS SONG. 

"The present momeiil's all our own, 
The next, who ever saw !'■ 

MiCKLE. 

Come, fill me up a brimming cup, 

We'll season wine with wit and song; 
For earthly joy, without alloy. 

Not often comes, nor tarries long : 
Unthrift it were, to look for Care, 

No need hath he Time's wings to borrow ; 
Then, friends, be gay with me to-day. 

And I'll be wise with you to-morrow ! 

With loved ones near, good friends, good cheer. 

The fireside glow, and genial heart ; 
Why should we look in Fate's black book, 

The present moment's mirth to thwart ! 
In green old age, the Christmas Sage, 

Should never wear a frown or furrow ; 
Then, friends, be gay with me to-day. 

And I'll be Avise with you to-morrow ! 

The cuckoo flies from wintry skies, 

And seldom fails to find a spring ; 
And, happy bird, is never heard, 

A single, saddening note to sing ! 
But even if right, in Reason's spite, 

To fly from joy, and seek for sorrow, 
Still, friends be gay with me to-day. 

And I'll be wise with you to-morrow ! 



230 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 



THOU HAST FLASHED ON MY SIGHT. 

Thou hast flashed on my sight, 

Like a spirit of love, 
In my sorrow's deep night, 

From the regions above ! 
And thy beauty's calm light 

With new lustre seems crowned, 
As the star shows more bright 

From the darkness around ! 

And thy voice, sweet and low 

As the echo of song. 
Or the streamlet's soft floAv, 

As it murmurs along. 
Seems a balm to impart 

In this desolate hour. 
That refreshes my heart, 

As the dew-drop the flower. 

Like the Angel that came 

To St. Peter, by night : 
With as holy an aim, 

And a forehead as bright ; 
Hast thou burst on my sadness, 

A dream of delight ; 
Turning sorrow to gladness. 

And darkness to light ! 



ENVOY. 231 



ENVOY. 



Spring breathes around us ; the bright air is filled 
With glittering life, and odours dewy sweet ; 
The far off stir, by mellowing distance stilled, 
Scarce wafts a murmur to our green retreat ; 
Come, let us seek the old accustomed seat, 
Together watch day's ebbing waves decline ; 
Till our full hearts boAV down, Avith reverence meet. 
To Him who gave that glowing light to shine — 
Bright in its morning prime, but at this hour divine ! 

II. 

Lo ! what a flush is reddening all the skies. 
What rays supernal yon proud throne surround. 
What magic splendour, what unnumbered dyes, 
Yon setting sun's increasing orb hath crowned ! 
Those golden bars upon their purple ground. 
Seem each to fancy's eye a glowing stair 
Leading to glories more and more profound ! 
How sweet to gaze upon a heaven so fair. 
And deem our loved, and lost, are sphered for ever there ! 

III. 

It is a thought that well the scene beseems. 
Bright, tranquil, soothing, full of hope and peace ; 



232 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

The cherished vision of unnumbered dreams ; 
The faith that bids all keener anguish cease. 
For what was death to them ? A sweet release 
From all the mean and sordid cares of life ; 
From Pride's cold taunt, from Fortune's wild caprice ; 
From all the ills with which this world is rife ; 
Its blind but bitter hate, its perfidy and strife ! 

IV. 

All that our trusting hearts have bled to know ; 
Much that our aching breasts must brave again ; 
The hollow friend, the smooth, insidious foe ; 
Keen self-reproach for gifts bestowed in vain ; 
And all the racking " family of Pain !" 
Oh, if 'tis sweet to 'scape such withering woes ; 
To break the bondage of so hard a chain ; 
How doubly blest the timeless doom of those 
Who, all unstained by earth, enjoy that deep repose ! 

V. 

And such their lot, for whom we love to shed 
Tears, that of rapture more than grief partake ; 
Locked in that slumber of the sinless dead, 
No strife can stir, no agony can break : 
Thrice blessed art thou for those fair children's sake ; 
Fetters of love to link thee to the skies ! 
Whoe'er would wish from such a dream to wake ; 
Who but must envy thee those holiest ties, 
A mother's yearnings fond for babes in Paradise ! 

VI. 

Yet not to them be all thy thoughts still given, 
Who bask in smiles that earth could ne'er bestow : 



ENVOY. 2 

But turn thy tearful eyes awhile from heaven, 
To helpless claimants on thy love below ! 
See, where yon archer bends his mimic bow. 
With eager eye to trace his arrow's flight; 
Can mortal hope a fairer promise show ? 
Look where the shaft hath struck, — he laughs outright, 
Until his infant form seems buoyant with delight ! 

VII. 
And to that mirth an answering echo rings. 
From the enchanted nursling on thy knee, 
As all abroad her slighted toys she flings, 
His sport to join with sympathetic glee ; 
Struggling with hot impatience to be free. 
And share the triumphs of that wondrous feat : 
Nor all unmoved doth he her gladness see ; 
But hastes the practised marvel to repeat, 
Till the blue welkin rings with laughter wild and sweet. 

VIII. 

And canst thou list and not be joyous too. 
That simple music of the guileless heart ? 
Canst thou those sweet and sinless raptures view. 
And in their bliss refuse to bear a part ? 
Forbid it, love, all gentle as thou art ; 
Forbid it, too, that fond, maternal smile ; 
Then let each sad and boding thought depart. 
Turn from life's cankers and its cares awhile. 
And let such sights and sounds thine anxious heart beguile 

IX. 

Deem it not strange I should prefer the string 
That best accords with gentle themes like these, 

40 



234 LYEICS OF THE HEART. 

And leave the realm of Fancy's wilder wing, 
To sing of home and homebred sympathies : 
Content with few and simple notes to please, 
And win a poet's meed from hearts like thine, 
All unambitious prouder wreaths to seize, 
The Muse's loftier vision I resign. 
So that her twilight tears and sunset smiles be mine ! 

X. 

The youthful lover's hopes and fears to tell ; 
Of childhood's budding bloom and happy death ; 
Of those high thoughts that bid the soft heart swell, 
When glowing Faith resigns her sainted breath ; 
To catch the hues from Pity's dew-spent wreath, 
And bid them live a moment in my lay ; 
To mourn, some old, umbrageous oak beneath. 
O'er joys that wither like the waning day, 
And wear their loveliest smiles even whilst they fade away 

XI. 
Or, haply, murmuring of some peaceful cot, 
The home of pleasures pure, pursuits refined ; 
Some quiet nook, some calm, sequestered spot, 
Radiant with triumphs of the heart and mind ; 
Where Poesy and Painting sit enshrined ; 
Where Art aiid Nature yield their treasures chaste. 
And charm their votaries with their spells combined ; 
Where Genius' self, by Truth and Fancy graced, 
Both not disdain to own the plastic hand of Taste. 

XII. 

Such are the simple songs I bring thee here. 
Songs that a few will prize, that all may feel ; 



ENVOY. 235 

Records of bliss and woe, of hope and fear, 
Of lowly lives like tranquil streams that steal. 
And in their wanderings, dark or bright, reveal 
The shade or sunshine of their chequered way : 
Such is the offering that with duteous zeal, 
And love time-hallowed, at thy feet I lay ; 
Where could my votive Muse such well-earned homage pay ? 

xiir. 
To whom but thee could I so fitly bring 
The fond memorials of that downy nest, 
Where Fancy oft hath plumed her ruffled wing 
With sounds of peace, and images of rest ; 
Where by life's ills and meaner cares depressed, 
I joy to flee for solace and repose, — 
The love and counsels of thy gentle breast ; — 
A hallowed home, no carking strife that knows, 
Where lulling sights and sounds my world-vexed thoughts 
compose. 

XIV. 
Oft from the loopholes of that still retreat, 
Have we beheld the busy stir without ; 
Watched that wild ocean lashing at our feet. 
With souls subdued and thankfulness devout : 
And as the frequent, fierce, exulting shout 
Of savage men that on each other prey, 
Burst on the ear from madding crowds without ; 
'Twas sweet to feel we were not such as they. 
And sadder, wiser, turn from that keen strife away ! 



XV. 

And sweet 'neath genial skies in summer weather, 
To watch as now the radiant day decline ; 



236 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

To turn some bright, immortal page together, 
Where Poesy's unnumbered treasures shine, 
And Genius strews around her spells divine ; 
Milton's proud pomp for Spenser's sweetness leave ; 
Drink polished wit from Pope's melodious line ; 
With forceful Gray aspire, with Collins grieve ; 
Mourn hapless Auburn's fate, and Cowper's truths believe. 

XVI. 

Or, sometimes seated by our smiling hearth, 
When storms without uplift their wintry din, 
And quiet thoughts from those wild sounds have birth, 
Deepening the SAveetness of the calm within; 
In taste united, as in heart akin. 
To seek (in thought) the bowers of modern Song, 
A glowing garland of its flowers to twine ; 
Together, thus the cheerful eve prolong. 
That seldom comes too soon — and never seems too long. 

XVII. 

To wander forth with Harold's wayward Childe, 
As storm or sunshine rules his Pilgrimage ; 
To share his gentler moods, his transports wild. 
And hang with breathless wonder o'er his page. 
Alas ! that he who could all hearts engage. 
And stir, at will, the soul's divinest springs. 
War with his better self so oft Avould wage, 
And wring harsh discords from harmonious strings ; 
Veiling his spirit's eyes, like the angel, with his wings ! 

XVIII. 

That he whose genius upon manna fed, 

Was imped to soar where loftiest thoughts have birth. 



E N V Y. 237 

To Marah's bitter fount too often led, 
Should dim its plumage with the stains of earth : 
Alas, for Genius ! Fame, of little worth. 
The fickle world is ever ripe to wrong, — 
That desolates the heart, then mourns the dearth 
Of all that still might to that heart belong ! 
That Grief so oft should be the heritage of Song ! 

XIX. 

To seek, with Campbell, Susquehanna's wave. 
And list the descant of his Indian Chief; 
To muse awhile o'er Connocht Moran's grave. 
And share his widowed bride's indignant grief: 
Or when the song peals forth, in grand relief, 
Of England's meteor flag, and Nelson's fame. 
In trumpet notes, sonorous, clear, and brief; 
To feel, within, the patriotic flame 
Lit in each British heart by that undying name ! 

XX. 

Poet of Hope ! though many a joy hath fled. 
And many a dream, too wildly loved to last, 
In youth's bright spring our bounding hearts that fed, 
And came like sunshine, have like sunshine passed ; 
Though Hope for us may never more forecast 
Her El-Dorado, sought so long in vain ; 
Though Fancy fail, and Youth may fleet as fast, 
Till but life's cold realities remain. 
Her Pleasures still will live in thy melodious strain ! 

xxr. 

And sweet, in concert, bending o'er his lay. 
To own the spell of Wordsworth's loftier power ; 



238 LYRICS OF THE HEART. 

By devious Duddon's tranquil stream to stray ; 
By swifter Wharfe to while a thoughtful hour ; 
List the sweet Sabbath-bells from Bolton Tower, 
When glides from Rylstone Fell the milk-white Doe, 
There, by one green sequestered grave to cower. 
And, when the latest hymn hath ceased, to go 
Back to her mountain haunts, with step serene and slow ! 

XXII. 

To linger with his wandering Sage, and hold 
Communion with the mighty hills, ere yet. 
O'er their proud summits capped with crowns of gold, 
The westering sun's increasing orb hath set ; 
Trace from its source the mountain rivulet 
Hurrying in ceaseless eddies to the vale ; 
Or watch the clouds in gorgeous pageant met 
To usher out the day ; till Twilight pale 
Draws o'er the dimming scene her soft, mysterious veil. 

XXIII. 

Nor has our homage been delayed till now, 
Poet and Prophet ! ere the voice of Fame, 
That with unfading wreaths hath bound thy brow, 
Was heard to more than murmur forth thy name, 
Amid the scoffer's gibe, the critic's blame. 
That loftiest truths from simplest lips should glide ; 
Ere Fashion's plaudits swelled the loud acclaim, — 
For even Fashion's fool can track the tide, — 
A household word it grew our smiling hearth beside ! 

XXIV, 
And by the statue of the armdd knight. 
Where leans with lips apart fair Genevieve, 



ENVOY. 239 

How sweet to share the tale of wreck and blight, 
She loves the more because it makes her grieve ; 
Until the feigned woe doth so deceive, 
She deems the "ladye's" sorrows all her own ; 
And fearful fate should thus her heart bereave. 
Yields coy consent before the tale is done ; 
And thus, by Pity stirred, without a prayer is won ! 

XXV. 

In Wilson's white-winged bark to sail away 
To some green island in the Indian sea, 
Where life is one long summer holiday, 
And Nature keeps eternal jubilee : 
Where Woman blooms in native purity, 
And fairest flowers and fruits spontaneous smile : 
Where nothing toils beside the busy bee ; 
Where Care comes not, nor Falsehood's serpent wile, 
To mar the perfect peace of that enchanted isle. 

XXVI. 

Or with melodious Rogers, earliest loved, — 
The longer known more loved, — of whose pure strains 
The soothing power our hearts so oft have proved 
To call up Memory's joys without her pains, 
O'er days gone by to muse : 'mid sunset plains, 
Scenes such as Claude would paint and he has sung ; 
Or by the cheerful hearth, where calmly reigns 
Domestic Peace her halcyon mates among ; 
His songs, so silver-sweet, glide oftenest from our tongue. 

XXVII. 

But, see, the sun hath vanished from the sky, 
And twilight's glow is deepening into night ; 



240 LYKICS OF THE HEART. 

The crescent moon is climbing fast on high, 
And countless stars, with intermittent light. 
Are twinkling now, and now elude the sight ! 
Oh, for the dove's strong wings, that we might soar 
From this dull earth to yon empyrean height. 
Where life's mean cares, its fitful fever o'er. 
The world's wild strife and wrong might never touch us more. 



NOTES. 



*#* The following Poems are from the pen of Mrs. Aiaric Watts :— The 
Deserted Cottage (page 120); Requiem of Youth (123) ; A Maiden's Soliloquy 
(124) ; Guardian Angels (140) ; On the Statue of his Deceased Child by R. 
Lane, Esq. (167); Sappho (180); Stanzas written at Vauchise (18G); Amiens 
Cathedral (191). The subject of the Love of Poetry not Extinct (213), was 
suggested by Mrs. Aiaric Watts, and several of the stanzas are from her pen. 



Page 32, hne 18. 

"There Salvi's Nun in silent prayer dolh bow."' 

In this and the succeeding stanza, the surname of the painter has been sub- 
stituted for that by vi^hich he is usually designated : as Salvi, for Sassoferrato : 
Cagliari, for Paul Veronese ; Zampieri, for Domenichino ; Mazzuoli, for Par- 
megiano ; and Berretino, for Pietro da Cartona. 

Page 34, line 17. 
"For ever thine, whate'er this heart betide." 
The refrain of these verses is borrowed from a German song. 

Page 38, line 25. 

"Thou wert Venus' sister-twin, 
If this shade be thine, Nell Gwynii." 

41 



242 NOTES. 

The beautiful sketch which gave occasion for these Hnes was suggested to 
the late G. S. Newton, R. A., by an old miniature, said to have been a portrait 
of Nell Gwynn, but bearing a much greater resemblance to the picture of 
Ninon de I'Enclos, in her premiere j'eunesse. 

Page 40, line 11. 
" Intreat me not to leave thee so." 

A paraphrase of verses IG and 17 of the first chapter of the Book of Ruth. 

Page 49, line 1. 

'■ Sad Experience, bought how dearly. 
Cruel, seldom to be kind ; 
Like the stern-light, shows too clearly, 
But the track we leave behind !" 

"To most men. Experience is like the stern-lights of a ship, which illumine 
only the track it has passed.'" — S. T. Coleridge. 



Page 53, Hne 10. 

"I see thee oft in Fancy's glass, 
'Edwin' and 'Ranger in thy train. 
Pacing across the village plain, 
The ' Broken Bridge' to pass. 

The allusions in this and the three succeeding stanzas refer to poems included 
in Mrs. Southey's " Solitary Hours," " Birthday, and other Poems,"' as well as to 
her pathetic " Chapters on Churchyards." 



Page 55. line 16. 

"Till Memory's self be dead." 

" Till Pity's self be dead.'" — CoLLiXS. 



NOTES. 243 

Page GO, line 3. 

"Gatherings, since he scorn* to fly, 
Life's last energies to die !"' 

" And rally life's last energies to die !"' 

Chinnerys Dying Gladiatoe. 



Page 65, line 23. 

'■ Mark those infant twins that kneel. 
Side hy side." 

These lines were suggested by a beautiful picture from the pencil of my 
esteemed friend, Thomas Uwins, R.A., entitled " Children in Prayer." 



Page GG, line IG, to page G7, line 16. 

•' Lo I where yon uplifted eyes 
Seem to commune with the skies." 

It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to mention, that the descriptions contained 
in this passage have reference to celebrated pictures by Guido, Correggio, Carlo 
Dolci, and Claude. 



Page 86, line 17. 

" How hath the fierce oppressor fallen. 
The Golden City ceased." 

A paraphrase of part of the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah, namely, of 
4 to 12 and 14 to 23. 



Page 134, line 19. 

•'Art thou some spirit from that bhssful land." 

This Poem was reprinted in the Prospectus of an Institution for Sisters of 
Charity, which it was attempted to establish, some years ago, in the neighbour 



244 NOTES. 

hood of Hastings; and has since been inckided in the abridged Biographies of 
Vincent St. Paul, in use among the Sisters of Charity and Sisters of Mercy, in 
this country and in France. The benevolent gentleman with whom the idea 
of establishing a Convent for English Sisters of Charity originated, expended a 
large sum of money in purchasing and walling in its intended site and gardens; 
but has not yet succeeded in obtaining the funds requisite for the completion 
of the edifice. An institution on this plan, which would include Christian 
ladies of all religious denominations, could hardly fail to prove a blessing to 
the poor of this country. I have made myself acquainted with the pious labours 
of the Sisters of Charity in Paris, and can affirm with confidence that the sketch 
I have drawn (from real life) of a distinguished member of the order is by no 
means an exaggerated one. 



Page 1G7, line 7. 

'' I saw ihee in thy beauly, bright phantom of ihe past." 

In a lecture on Poetry, from the pen of the late Ebenezer Elliott, published 
in Tail's Magazine, it is remarked of this poem, that it is "full of home truths 
so affectingly real, that no person after reading them can be in doubt as to 
what it is that constitutes poetry, and passeth show." Mr. Elliott, however, 
ascribes the poem, to Mr. Lane, whose statue it was written to commemorate. 
I avail myself of this opportunity to reclaim it for its rightful owner, Mrs. Alaric 
Watts. 



Page 221, line 14. 
"The Rhine 1 the Rhine I he blessings on the Rhine 1" 
The burthen of a well-known German song. 



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